


your earthquake was just cracks

by flimsy



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 11:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsy/pseuds/flimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom kisses like a drowning man, Spencer thinks. He kisses like he wants to hold onto your lips with his teeth as the current carries him away, desperate and hungry and wild. It makes Spencer breathless, speechless, and makes him cling like he's the one who's drowning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your earthquake was just cracks

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the BandomBigBang 2009. I owe so many thanks to a lot of wonderful people, who motivated me and helped me along the way, in no particular order: makealimb, adorkable37, violentfires, lookingatstars, myrafur, treemaps. terribilita owns MY LIFE, for the fastest and most thorough beta-job the world has ever seen. Many thanks also to carnilia for betaing the first part of the fic.

***

They kiss on the first night in England, when Spencer is so drunk he doesn't even care anymore. The moon is up and shining, and Tom Conrad has him up against the outer shell of the bus, hands under his T-shirt, biting at his lips as if he's trying to eat him up. 

Spencer is whimpering and fisting Tom's shirt between his hands, feeling small and overwhelmed, the cold metal of the bus against his back making him hyperaware of where he is and who he's with. Tom's hands are on his belly, stroking, rubbing, and Spencer just feels hot everywhere even though England is so, so cold. 

Tom's beard is scraping against his cheek, then his neck, when Tom decides to suck the soft skin behind his ear until it's blossoming red, and Spencer can't do anything but let his eyes flutter shut, heart thudding hard in his chest. When Tom finally pulls away, pupils dilated - eyes black and burning - and Spencer feels the familiar sting of irritated flesh, it's only because there's a loud holler from the other side of the bus, where the door is, an indiscernible voice, that they break apart. 

Tom pulls away, tugs Spencer's T-shirt back down his hips, and says, "I'll find you later. Panic bus, yeah?"

Spencer nods feebly and clutches his phone tightly as he returns to the bus. To sleep, not to wait, he tells himself. Ryan's asleep already, his soft breaths and the sound of his iPod filling the silent void of the bunk area. Spencer takes off his shoes and jeans and socks and curls into his bunk; Tom doesn't find him that night.

*

Spencer doesn't get drunk the next night; he stays on the bus and plays Guitar Hero with Ryan until his fingers hurt from trying to catch up with Ryan's highscore. He's tired and sore from the show, and Tom left a mark right under his jaw and it's all blue and red, and Spencer is angry that he can't hide it and that Ryan keeps giving him _that_ look.

They've stopped at the venue for the night, and right across the street is a 24 hour-store. At twelve-thirty, with Ryan half asleep in his lap, Spencer feels the insatiable need for a chocolate-mint milkshake. He disentangles himself from Ryan, slips on his sneakers, then heads outside across the street. 

It's cold, and the cool air is making his skin rise up in goosebumps. He comes as far as the curb when a voice behind him hollers his name, echoing between the dark windows and empty streets. Spencer turns and waits for Tom to catch up to him. 

Tom's cheeks are red - alcohol, heat, cold, Spencer cannot tell, not yet - and he stops a mere inch away from Spencer. It's then that Spencer can smell the soft wafting whiskey scent from him, mixed with chlorine and water. 

"There's a fucking outdoor pool like, right around the corner, Smith," he says and shakes his head, droplets of water flying from his hair; one hits Spencer's lip, and he reaches up, distractedly wiping it away. 

"That's awesome," he says, and it sounds even colder than he intended . 

Tom doesn't seem to register his tone, just closes in, hands finding Spencer's hips again, and yeah, now Spence can definitely smell the alcohol on his breath. "C'mon," he starts, thumbs digging into Spencer's belly, "c'mon, skinny dipping." He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Spencer's jeans and pulls, bumping their hips together. He looks feral, feline even, pupils so dilated his eyes are like charcoals. 

"No, no," Spencer says reluctantly, craning his neck over Tom's shoulder, heart starting to race. "It's cold."

"I'll make you warm again," Tom says; Spencer is sure he didn't just drink tonight. "Let me make you hot, Spencer." His hands dip into Spencer's jeans, slipping around his hips and squeezing the round swell of his ass, and Spencer jumps a little, nearly tripping as he steps off the curb and onto the street. 

_You didn't come to me last night_ , he wants to say, but Tom's face is splitting into a grin - nearly cruel, canines pressing into his lower lip - and Spencer shudders, shaking his head. 

"You're an asshole," he says indignantly, stomach twisting. Suddenly he doesn't want a milkshake anymore. Tom just laughs, and Spencer turns his back on him, hurrying across the street and into the store. 

He idles around for fifteen minutes, buys a pack of chewing gum and the new _Flash_ , and only pays when he's sure that Tom isn't waiting on the other side of the street anymore. He returns to the bus, feeling like a thief, sneaking back in, and Ryan wakes when he sits on the couch delicately.

"What took you so long?" he asks, eyes squinty and tired, eyeliner everywhere.

"Nothing," Spence says. "There was a line."

*

"You know what the thing about bands is?" William asks, rhetorically, and waves his joint; Spencer scrunches up his nose at the smell. "Thing about bands is they gotta make music. If you don't make music, then you're not a fucking band." He says this like it's a big Confucian revelation, and Spencer just nods, brows raised a little.

"That's right, that's so right," Brendon chimes in; he's flushed, sitting in the Butcher's lap, and his hair is everywhere. Spencer feels like hitting him for having fun when he himself is not. Spencer grabs the bottle of flavored vodka from the table, and to everyone's audible amusement - but he so doesn't give a shit, seriously - takes a big sip, then another one, the liquor burning down his throat.

Somebody hollers; Spencer puts down the bottle again, head swimming. He tried not to feel guilty for drinking and now he does anyway. He stumbles to his feet and towards the door of the bus.

"Hey, Conrad," Tom's guitar tech -Joe? Jon? - says loudly from the kitchenette, tilting his chin in Spencer's direction as Spencer looks at him. "Looks like you don't hafta _get_ him drunk tonight."

Spencer's flips him off and stumbles out into the cold. He left his hoodie on the armrest of the couch, he realizes two steps away from the bus. It's so cold the hair at the small of his neck stands up. Seven steps away from the bus, he hears the door open and close once more, then heavy steps behind him, and he doesn't have to turn to know whose hands are closing around his middle, splayed over his stomach like pinned butterflies. 

"I fucking love your tummy, Smith," Tom says into his ear, breath hot and moist against his skin, feeling even hotter compared to the cool night air. "It's like, soft and squishy. Squishy. Can I make a wish when I rub it?" He laughs against Spencer's neck, and Spencer wiggles out of his grip, cheeks hot with embarrassment. 

He turns to face Tom, his arms going around his middle instinctively, glaring. "I'm not-" he starts, but doesn't even know what he wants to say. His belly is tingly, and he wants it to go away right this moment, and he wants Tom to stop staring at him. 

Tom tilts his brow at him and pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans; his hair is all askew, and Spencer wants to reach up and set it straight again. "Why're you doing this?" he asks instead and juts out his chin with faux-confidence. 

"Doing what?" Tom grins at him. He's bouncing from his toes to his heels and back again, over and over, as if he's going to bound forward any second. 

"I'm going back to my bus," Spencer says and turns around, stalking off. This is _not_. Something he should have to put up with. Tom apparently thinks otherwise. Tom apparently thinks it's a good idea to _grab_ Spencer's belt, make him stumble and then fall when he just lets go. 

Spencer sputters for a moment, climbing back to his feet, and frowns at the sharp pain shooting through his scraped-open palms. "What the fuck?" he hisses and Tom actually looks apologetic.

"Sorry, I-" He shrugs a bit, his smile genuine. "Didn't think you'd-" He takes Spencer's hands in his own, turning the palms up, examining him in the dim light of the street lamps. Spencer feels his glare soften a little, but pulls his hands away after a moment.

"Let me make it up to you," Tom says, and the old, familiar tone is back. 

"What-" Spencer begins, but he doesn't get much farther before Tom walks him backwards until his back hits the bus again, pressing him against it and their mouths together. Tom tastes like whiskey. He always tastes like whiskey when he kisses Spencer. Well, the one time that he did. Spence whimpers a bit, knowing he should push him away, but parts his lips anyway, granting entrance.

Tom kisses like a drowning man, Spencer thinks. He kisses like he wants to hold onto your lips with his teeth as the current carries him away, desperate and hungry and wild. It makes Spencer breathless, speechless, and makes him cling like he's the one who's drowning.

*

Jon likes cats and coffee and cinnamon rolls, and he always smells like moss and earth and fresh wood, clean and new. Spencer gets to know of all these things in Bristol, before the show, when they're out and about exploring the city and all the little streets and cafes. Jon ends up with them somehow, losing Bill and Tom somewhere along the way, and Spencer does not mind at all.

Brendon clings to him like a tiny monkey, and only two hours later, when they're having lunch at the harbor, sitting on the wall, the water below their feet, eating fish and chips, the two of them are already singing Disney songs at the top of their lungs.

*

So, this is how it all starts.

On the plane from Washington to London - Heathrow, Spencer, for some unfathomable reason, ends up sitting next to the blond guitarist from the Academy. Spencer knows his name - it's Tom Conrad, they met before on a tour - and ten minutes into the flight he also knows that Tom takes a lot of pictures and knows how to convince flight attendants to give him free alcoholic drinks. 

Spencer throws Ryan helpless glares, but Ryan is asleep, his headphones plugged in. Tom goes on babbling about Chicago and the band and how funny Pete Wentz is and if Spencer has a boyfriend, and Spencer flushes hotly all over, fumbles for his own iPod and turns the music up really high. 

He doesn't sleep at first, but drifts off slowly; when he wakes again, one or two hours away from their destination, it's the Butcher in Tom's seat now, sleeping with his mouth open.

*

Tom doesn't talk to him the next day; he just quietly helps Jon set up his guitar and amps and everything after Panic's set, and Spence sits backstage, his feet dangling off the side of the stage, drinking diet soda. He's sweaty and gross from playing, and wants nothing more than to go shower, but he drew the shortest straw and has to wait until everyone else is done. Last time this happened, Tom sat behind him and pushed his hands under Spencer's T-shirt, whispering silly jokes until Spencer had enough, embarrassed about so much attention, and jumped off the stage.

Nothing happens today; Tom isn't even looking at him. His face is grim and he holds his guitar like a gun, ready to shoot somebody. Spencer draws his knees up to his chest and hides his face against them so he can't watch Tom anymore. Not that he wants to.

*

They play their last show in Birmingham and fly home that very night. Spencer has caught a slight cold and takes a NyQuil right before they get on the plane; he passes out minutes after take off, sleeping until they land again in Washington.

Ryan shuffles him through the gates to board their flight to Vegas, and Spencer sleepily looks back, only to see Tom padding off with the other guys to another gate.

*

They're in Vegas, in Spencer's house, and Brendon is sprawled on the couch, munching chocolates. Spencer's cold still hasn't worn down, and he's developed a slight cough. Ryan is telling him about his girlfriend, that she had a Myspace conversation with another boy that lasted _like six pages, Spencer, six pages!_ and Spencer is just really tired.

They haven't seen Brent since they got back, and while Brent isn't usually hanging out with them twenty-four-seven, it's weird not to hear from him at all, especially since they'll go back on tour tomorrow. Spencer is tapping his fingers against his phone nervously; he doesn't know what he's expecting. A call from Brent, maybe Pete.

He's nervous and jittery and doesn't even know why, and Ryan just won't shut the fuck up about his girlfriend, and Spencer is surprised by how sudden and violent the urge to hit him is. 

He grabs his phone, steps outside into the fresh January air and dials Brent's numbers. Brent doesn't pick up for the first seven rings, and when he does he sounds very far away. 

"Wha'," he says. 

"Hey," Spencer says. He doesn't even know why he called, so he just says, "You ready to catch our flight tomorrow?" 

Brent grunts into the phone. "Yeah, yeah." Spencer bites his lip and feels sad. He remembers before - not too long ago, even - when he could call Brent and they'd just talk. Not like he and Ryan - nobody will ever understand him like Ryan does - but there was sort of a comfort, a mutual peace between them. Now Spencer feels like he's constantly pushing. 

"Cool," he says. "See you tomorrow then." He hangs up. He can see Ryan and Brendon talking animatedly through the glass door; Ryan's handing over his phone and waving his hand, and Brendon reads something on the screen before replying. He can see Ryan's lips molding softly around the sharp "P" in Pete's names, and for a moment Spencer wishes he had a rockstar sort-of boyfriend too.

*

Spencer doesn't really understand the logic behind tour planning, and by no means would he ever claim otherwise, but he honestly thinks it's fucking stupid to fly to Michigan and then to _Canada_ and then back to the States to board a bus there.

By the time they hit Providence, Spencer sort of wants to kick their tour manager. It's only the sixth date - seventh day on the road - and Spencer feels worn and tired already. England, he remembers, was different. 

Now it feels like they have to prove something, anything. Spencer doesn't even know. He wanders around restless after the show, his hair standing up and wet, letting it dry in the humid air of their motel. 

He likes hotel nights; real beds and real showers, real food sometimes, even. There's nobody here at their hotel, either; maybe it's just that the season is wrong, or the peeling tapestry and the old, one-eyed receptionist are sort of a deterrent. 

Spencer has taken his shitty, old-ass camera with him and is photographing dusty window sills and the flaking paint on the handrail of the stairs. He feels a little ridiculous, but Ryan's sleeping, Brendon and Brent are headed off somewhere with the Academy guys and Spencer has nothing to do. 

Jon showed him a couple of pictures last night, all soft colors and lightening, and it made Spencer want to take some of his own, even though he knows he'll never be that good. He sort of gets it, though - viewing the world through a viewfinder, banning it on digital cellophane and shit. 

He walks up the stairs and finds a broken champagne flute in the corner of the landing. It's dusty and gray, and looks like it's been there forever. He kneels tenderly, focusing the camera on the object, takes a blurry picture anyway when a noise behind him makes him jerk. He catches himself against the wall with one hand, heart thudding. 

"The light is way too shitty for your camera in here, Smith," Tom says. He's not looking at Spencer, really; his camera is raised and Tom is hiding behind it. Spencer feels himself flush hotly, both both because he's been caught at his amateurish attempts at taking pictures and at the sound of the shutter on Tom's camera. It goes click-click-click, catching every movement, and Spencer wants to run away. 

Tom hasn't talked to him since they arrived; just one little hello, sort of off-handish, at the airport in Grand Rapids. 

Spencer doesn't say anything. He bites his lip and looks away, letting his bangs fall over his eyes. 

"Don't you think it's funny, too," Tom says, still taking pictures, "that the venue was called Heartbreak Hotel?" He snorts a little. Spencer feels his heart clench. "And that Mike's girlfriend broke up with him exactly today?" He adds that nearly as an afterthought. As if it wasn't really what he wanted to say. 

Spencer pushes himself off the floor, stuffing his camera into the pocket of his jeans. "I gotta go shower," he says, then cringes at how bad his lie is. 

"Your hair is wet," Tom says and finally lowers his camera. "You just showered. What do you wanna shower again for?" 

"None of your business," Spence bites out and tries to push past Tom down the stairs. Tom catches him around the waist, though, and presses him against the wall, dust raining off the ceiling from the impact. He smells clean; his breath is soft and warm. No whiskey, vodka, or rum.

"If you're gonna shower again now anyway," Tom whispers against his ear. "Let me make you dirty first." 

"No, no," Spencer says and pushes at Tom's shoulder, winding out of his grip. He stumbles down one, two stairs, and comes to a halt, panting, leaning against the handrail. "What do you even want from me?" he asks, voice breaking a little. He doesn't want to stop and wait, knows he shouldn't, but finds himself stilling anyway.

Tom follows him down the stairs and kisses him, hands on the rail right next to Spencer's. It feels different; Tom Conrad kisses differently when he's sober, apparently. His lips are soft and yielding, and he flutters his eyes shut. Spencer inhales shakily against Tom's mouth, then closes his eyes as well and parts his lips to deepen the kiss a little. 

It's nearly sweet, and Tom's hands wander to his waist, framing his hips. Spencer lets go of the handrail and reaches up to hold onto Tom's waist, kissing back. Tom pulls away after a moment, and Spencer chases the kiss, breathless, his heart thundering loudly in his chest. Tom moves to step away, but Spencer holds on; he tiptoes forward until he can press against Tom again and nipps at his lower lip.

Tom growls a little, and presses closer, fingers digging into the small of Spencer's back, pulling him in. Spencer breaks away after a moment, shivering softly. The hair at the back of his neck is standing up and his face is flushed. 

Tom licks his lips and leans in again when suddenly his phone starts vibrating and ringing loudly. Spencer jumps back a little, and Tom fumbles for his phone, stepping away and answering. He exchanges a few quick words with someone - Jon, Spencer assumes - and Spencer waits, looking away, while he wipes his lips dry. 

"I should-" he gestures, and edges down the stairs once Tom finishes. "Go." Tom doesn't hold him back this time, and Spencer fumbles the old key to his room out of his pocket. 

Heartbreak Hotel. What a joke.

*

In New York, Spencer gets really drunk. He doesn't even plan it, or like, think about it until William drags him to his hotel room, stumbling a little already. Ryan's there - and yes, Spencer did wonder where he suddenly vanished off to - and while he's not drinking, he seems very wrapped up in a game with the Butcher and Brendon, so Spencer doesn't feel quite as guilty when William hands him a shot glass and tells him to down the fucker.

William's all sorts of lanky and self-aware, loud on stage, but he's quiet and stumbles over his words when you catch him without the microphone. Spencer likes talking to him; he curls up on the couch, where two of the tech guys are playing Halo, and lets William press more and more drinks in his hand as they talk. 

By the time William starts telling him about his crazy uncle, Spencer's already quite drunk. His head is swimming a little, and he excuses himself to the bathroom, not able to follow the conversation anymore. He relieves himself and washes his hands, then returns. His head feels woozy, and he steps outside for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut.

Tom finds him there, leaning against the wall; Spencer doesn't notice until Tom presses against him, body warm, nuzzling his neck. 

"Hey baby," he says, hands on Spencer's hips again. Spencer sighs a little and wraps his arms around him, holding him close. "You're so drunk," Tom continues; his breath is so warm against Spencer's neck and his body is solid, a comfortable weight against Spencer's own. 

Spencer turns his head a little and presses a soft, chaste kiss to Tom's lips before pulling away again. "Why do you ignore me all the time?" he whispers against Tom's mouth. 

Tom shakes his head, breath coming in short puffs. "Not ignoring you." He kisses Spencer again, more hungry now, tongue and teeth, and Spencer flutters his eyes shut, his head swimming and anticipation tugging inside him. He sucks on Tom's tongue and holds onto his T-shirt as Tom pushes his hands into the back of his jeans, squeezing tightly. He draws back after a moment to hook his thumbs into the waistband of Spencer's jeans, pulling him a few doors down, and Spencer follows stumbling, his face red. 

Tom fumbles his keycard from his pants, pushes open the door to his room and pulls Spencer inside. The door falls shut to a dark, overheated hotel room, but Spence doesn't care; Tom growls a little and presses him into the door, kissing him hard. 

He whimpers a little, his hands wandering up against Tom's chest, and pushes him towards the bed. Tom breaks the kiss and slides his fingers under Spencer's T-shirt, raising it up and over his head, while Spencer toes off his shoes. Tom follows suit, unbuttoning his shirt with nimble fingers, then unbuckles his belt, letting it hang open while he deals with Spencer's fly. 

Spencer moans a little, dick twitching, nearly instantly hard at the brush of Tom's fingers, and steps out of the hindering garment when Tom prompts him to, breathing hard, his hands on Tom's waist. 

"Yeah?" Tom asks, and grabs Spencer's hips, not waiting for his answer before he turns them both, Spencer tumbling onto the bed, Tom climbing over him, spreading his body over Spencer's as he kisses him again, biting at his lips, his hips moving down against Spencer's thigh, the worn denim rough against his skin. 

He sits up and back again after a moment and takes off his jeans and underwear, his socks, and Spencer pulls himself up, pressing a soft, wet kiss to his collarbone, then his neck, lingering. He's so hard it's almost painful, and Tom reaches down and palms him through his underwear. Spencer whimpers softly, bucking up, wanting more, and Tom moves to fist his own cock, too, rubbing Spencer's softly, and Spencer lets his forehead drop on Tom's shoulder, panting wetly against his skin. 

"Spencer, Spencer," Tom says, and ducks his head to nudge him with his nose, then kisses him hungrily. His mouth is wet, and _god_ , Spencer moans again despite himself. He trails his hand down Tom's thigh and curls his fingers around his cock, pushing Tom's hand away, starting to stroke lightly, having to pull back and away from the kiss, his whiskey muddled brain not able to concentrate on two things at once. 

Tom groans, low and rough, brows furrowed, his teeth on his lower lip, and Spencer moans softly, then dives down and licks the tip of Tom's cock. Tom hisses out a curse and his hips come off the bed, thighs flexing under Spencer's hands. He hesitates only for a small moment, then slides onto the floor, sitting between Tom's legs. His heart is racing nervously, and he's never done this, but Tom's cock is right in front of him and he wants it so bad it almost hurts. 

"Fuck, Spence," Tom grits out and pushes his fingers into Spencer's hair, encouraging him to come closer, and Spencer does. 

"Please-" Tom says, and Spencer dips his head down and wraps his lips around Tom's cock, trying to cover his teeth. He closes his eyes and sucks farther down, cheeks hollowing a little, and hopes he's doing at least somewhat okay. Tom growls and bucks up, pulling at Spencer's hair, and Spencer chokes only a little, trying to keep his rhythm as he bobs his head up and down, covering what he can't take of Tom's cock with his fingers, delicately curled around the base, following the movement of his mouth. 

"Fuck, yeah, yeah," Tom groans, voice rough, and Spencer has to hold onto the duvet next to Tom's hip to keep his balance as Tom continues thrusting into his mouth. Tom keeps babbling, his voice growing hoarser with every word, and Spencer breathes hard through his nose, the blood rushing in his hears. 

"Yeah, god, this your first time?" Tom keeps talking, hips moving relentlessly. "Your mouth feels so good, shit-" Spencer curls over, trying to take him deeper, oddly aware of his stomach, his cock hard and twitching. 

Tom shakes his head and curves his hips away, tugging at Spencer's hair until he pulls off, his still hard dick sliding over Spencer's lower lip for a moment. The smell of sex and Tom's panting fill the room, and Spencer looks at him again as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips are swollen and tender; when he tries to speak, his voice sounds rough. 

"Tom-" Spencer climbs back onto the bed, beckoned by Tom's hands on his shoulders. They tumble down a little awkwardly, legs and arms and wet lips pressed together hotly. Tom's fingers find the waistband of his boxerbriefs and pull them down, over the soft curve of his ass, and Spencer arches his hips off the mattress to ease the process. Tom is pressed against him, all warm, and for a tiny moment, when Tom pulls back and drags his hands over Spencer's chest and belly, Spencer feels a rush of embarrassment, of _don'tlookatmedon'tlookatme_ , until Tom leans down again and presses a kiss to his collarbone, chin, higher, their lips meeting. 

He sighs a little, pushes his hands into Tom's hair and holds him there, kissing back hungrily; his legs shift around until Tom _gets it_ , finally, and settles between them, rutting against him, their dicks sliding together hard and fast. 

"Can I fuck you?" Tom pants out roughly, punctuating his words with small thrusts of his hips, his beard rough as he sucks on Spencer's neck. "I really wanna fuck you," he repeats and Spencer moans softly, spreading his legs more widely, shivering. 

"Okay, okay," he says and ducks down to capture Tom's mouth again, wanting to kiss him. "Do it," he continues, stomach twisting nervously. Tom groans and slides off him, bending over the side of the bed; he re-emerges only a second later with a condom between his fingers, which he drops on the sheets. 

He shuffles closer again, pushing Spencer's legs up by his thighs, and Spencer sucks his bottom lips between his teeth; the alcohol is wearing off a little, his head less dizzy, and he's becoming more aware of the humid heat of their hotel room and the contact of their bodies. Tom's fingers slide from his thigh to the crease of his thigh and curl around his cock, and Spencer lets out a tiny, desperate hiss, eyes falling shut. 

He feels Tom lean over him and rummage around in the nightstand, then opens his eyes again to watch Tom sit up, staring right at him. His hand is moving softly on the underside of Spencer's thigh, edging lower, and Spencer shifts his hips towards him, swallowing nervously, glancing at the small pack of vaseline in Tom's right hand. 

"Never been fucked before?" Tom asks and ghosts his fingers over Spencer's entrance, rubbing softly. 

"Shut up," Spencer grits out and feels his cheeks go red. "I'm not a virgin, shut up." Tom's finger probing at his entrance is sending shivers up his spine, his cock twitching. Tom moves over him again and kisses him, biting at his lips, and pushes a slick finger into him; Spencer didn't notice him rip open the Vaseline or slick up, and he hisses in surprise, biting down hard on Tom's lip by accident. 

"Shit," Tom curses, but he doesn't seem to mind if the way he pushes his hips into Spencer's thigh is any indication. He starts moving his finger a little faster, pushing into him every time he rocks down, their mouths pressed together firmly, drinking each other's breaths. Spencer can feel his body buzz and he moans softly and lets his thighs fall open, wanting more. 

"You like it," Tom groans, pulling back and adding another finger, moving faster. Spencer whimpers and moves his hips up to meet his fingers, gaze fixed on Tom's face. There's a grin playing around his mouth, wild, and he licks his lips before he continues, wiggling his fingers. "You done this before?"

"Shut up," Spence replies again; his voice breaks at the last word, into a high, keening sound as Tom pushes his fingers deeper, making his toes curl. "Now, now," he whines, his anxiety making room for something else. He fumbles around on the pillow for the condom, hands shaking a little, and finds it finally; Tom leans down again, pressing his mouth against Spencer's neck, sucking, and takes the condom from his fingers while Spencer lets his eyes fall shut, breathing hard through his nose as he feels Tom working the condom on himself, feels him shift and move and align. 

Then Tom's mouth is on his again, their breaths mixing in the steady rhythm of their chests rising against each other. Tom kisses him, surprisingly gentle, nibbling at Spencer's lips, as he pushes in, large and sort of burning. Spencer pulls away, hands sliding to Tom's back, and digs his nails into the ever yielding flesh, lips parting silently; Tom feels huge and impossible, and he's groaning with every inch, riding his hips into Spencer's. Spencer inhales shakily when Tom's finally all the way inside. 

"Yeah?" Tom asks, but doesn't wait for an answer, starting to roll his hips before Spencer has even had a change to breathe again. He turns his head to press his nose against Spencer's neck, fingers pressing into his hips, and Spencer flexes his thighs, moaning with every thrust, cock twitching against his stomach. 

His body adjusts quickly, the rough burn of the first few thrusts mellowing down to something more tolerable, and every time Tom thrusts into him, grunting out his name, Spencer rocks up against him, their hips finding a hard, steady rhythm. He closes his eyes, biting back the sounds that are trying to escape his throat, every thrust pushing him closer. 

Tom keeps talking, a steady stream of dirty whispers, hot against Spencer's skin; Spencer cries out softly, and then again at a particularly hard thrust. Tom bites him softly, then a little harder, the bed creaking as he speeds up. Spencer whines loudly and reaches up to hold himself against the headboard, body curving off the bed. 

"Fuck, fuck," Tom moans, pushes himself up - cold air hits Spencer's skin where he was before covered in _Tomtomtom_ \- and grips Spencer's hips tight, holding him in place as his thrusts become frantic. Spencer meets his eyes, gripping the pillow over his head with one hand and wraps his other around his dick, stroking fast. He lets out a long whine, coming all over his stomach, voice breaking as Tom continues to shove into him. 

"Shit, Spence," he grits out and speeds up once more, fucking Spencer through his orgasm. He collapses on top of him, body hot and sweaty and sticky, and Spencer pulls him close and kisses him desperately, curling his toes in the shivers of aftershock passing through him. 

He comes down from the high after a couple of moments, his breathing calming down; Tom is still nuzzling against his lips, tiny soft kisses, but he pulls away when Spencer opens his eyes, gingerly sliding out of him. Spencer winces a bit, feeling tender, and curls onto his side while Tom disposes of the condom and washes his hands in the bathroom. 

He returns a moment later and lies behind him, pulling him close. Spencer feels more sober now, and cold. Tom's breath smells more strongly of whiskey than before, but he thinks he probably just didn't notice. He closes his eyes, sighing a little, and presses his back against Tom's chest, seeking out his warmth. 

Tom kisses the small of his neck; Spencer can feel him smile against his skin before he speaks. "So how was your first time?" 

Spencer elbows him, but not too hard, and shakes his head. "You weren't. My first. Or whatever." Tom laughs quietly and wraps his arms around his middle, holding him close.

_Okay_ , Spencer thinks, and lets him.

*

The thing is, Spencer didn't really expect Tom to stay for morning cuddles or anything, but when he wakes in the middle of the night, it sort of stings that Tom's not there anymore. The hotel room is dark, and somebody opened the window and the icy night air is seeping in. Spencer groans and rolls onto his back, body sore. The other side of the bed is cold. Spencer takes a few moments to assess the situation: bed empty, bathroom empty, nobody by the window. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and then sits up, rubbing his eyes.

He dresses quickly, checking in his jeans for his keycard, and then leaves. Brent isn't back in their hotel room yet, and Spencer is sort of glad that he can just take off his clothes and step into the shower without having to worry about waking someone. He scrubs the dirt and sweat off his body, and when he steps out of the shower he wipes the vapor off the mirror. 

He brushes his teeth and when he looks up again, he notices the marks on his neck and collarbone. He reaches up and covers them with the palm of his hand, frowning deeply for a moment, then turns around and grabs a towel. 

It's three a.m. and they need to be up by seven. Spencer has no time for any of this.

*

Spencer can't find his phone; he knows he still had it last night when he was talking to William, but then in the morning, when he woke up in his hotel room with Ryan banging on the door, it was gone.

"Okay," Ryan says, "so you're sure you didn't leave it somewhere on the bus?" Spencer shakes his head and ruffles his own hair in worry, holding on. 

"Venue?" Ryan asks for the third time and again Spencer shakes his head. It's not the phone per se - he's a rockstar now, he can totally make Pete Wentz buy him a new phone - but it's all the numbers and contact data (and especially all the private data Spencer has saved on it); all that is what worries him most. 

He sits down on the couch next to Ryan and buries his face in his hands. "This fucking sucks." 

Ryan presses against him, arm around his shoulder. Spencer leans against him for a moment and then pulls away, sighing deeply. It's still another hour until the next town - some insane name, Spencer cannot seem to remember - and he's itching. He wants to go back and re-check the hotel room and the venue, but Zack said that he'd let the staff know to look out for his phone. 

He leans back against the backrest of the couch and Ryan curls against him, head on Spencer's shoulder, legs pulled up. Spencer grabs for the blanket next to him and spreads it over them because somebody left the stupid window open and it's way too cold in here and the blanket is much closer than the window. The clock on the DVD-player reads _8:37AM_ and that is just way too early for Spencer. He closes his eyes for only a second and then falls asleep anyway, Ryan all warm against him under the blanket. 

He wakes when the bus stops; somebody closed the window and Spencer is way too warm under the blanket. He blinks, disoriented, and sits up, stretching, and rubs his eyes. Brendon's on the couch, very quietly playing _Need for Speed_ on mute, legs crossed, eyes fixed on the screen. He turns only a little when Spencer moves, smiling at him, before turning back to his game. 

"We there?" Spencer croaks, then clears his throat before picking up a bottle of water from the floor and taking a few small sips. 

"Yeah," Brendon says without looking away from the screen; Spencer watches him for a few moments, then pulls the blanket over himself again, curling up a little. It's weird how Brendon sometimes gets so focused, concentrated. Spencer's known him for so long already now, but it's always an odd sight. He leans back against the couch and closes his eyes again, yawning loudly. 

Outside the lounge he can hear people moving around, Ryan talking to someone; he comes in a moment later and sits on the couch next to Spencer, handing him a cup of coffee. 

"This town," he says, "is called _Poughkeepsie_ , can you believe it?" 

"Write a song about Puffkeepsie. And who the hell names a town that? What's even mean? Sounds like a curse," Brendon says absently and crashes his car into a tree. "Crap, see what Puffkeepsie made me do?" He turns and gives Ryan a long and woeful look and Ryan rolls his eyes and takes a sip from his coffee. 

"You're saying it wrong," he says and stretches, shoulders bumping with Spencer's. 

"Where's Brent?" Spence asks, craning his neck to see around the door. He can't, actually, but at least he's trying. 

"I don't know?" Ryan shrugs and pulls his legs onto the couch. "I think he's still sleeping? He was still sleeping when I woke up." 

Spencer nods and sighs, sipping his coffee. It's pretty horrible; Spencer is sort of rethinking his rash decision to rebuff Ryan (jokingly) when he asked if they could have Jon as a second guitarist (and to make coffee all the time). 

He hears the bus door open a moment late,r and then Tom is stumbling into the lounge, cheeks red from the morning cold outside, wrapped in a hoodie. Spencer tilts his brow, questioning, then spots his phone in Tom's hand, feeling a rush of relief roll through him.

"You left that in my hotel room last night," Tom says, grinning, and tosses his phone at him. Spence barely manages to catch it without spilling his coffee, letting it bounce off his belly, as he flushes hotly. 

"What," Ryan says and gives him a funny look. 

"Nothing," Spencer grits out, and pushes his coffee cup into Ryan's hand, then gets up. He stuffs his phone into the backpocket of his jeans, and hustles Tom into the kitchenette. His face is all hot, and he suddenly feels icky from having just woken up. 

"Yeah, what?" Tom says, grinning still, and grabs Spencer's hips, pressing him against the counter, turning the tables on him. 

"What, what are you even thinking?" Spencer asks. "And why didn't you just give me the phone in the morning. We met in the lobby!" He doesn't quite know why he's so angry. It's like it's bubbling up from somewhere and he can't stop it, couldn't if he wanted to. 

Tom face falls a little and he lets go of Spencer's hips, letting his hands drop onto the edge of the counter. "What," he says again, voice hard, "don't want your friends to know who fucked you last night?" 

Spencer opens and closes his mouth, not sure what to say to that. Tom is staring at him, jaw tight, and Spencer looks away, opening his mouth to say something, but is saved when the bus door opens and Jon stumbles in. Tom pulls away abruptly, and then Brendon is bounding into the kitchenette, flinging his arms around Jon's neck.

*

Spence really enjoys Jon's company. He's sort of laid-back and funny, easy going. Spencer doesn't feel judged or evaluated when he's talking to Jon; he listens to Spencer quietly, nodding along, but never seems uninterested or bored, and somehow Spencer finds himself talking about Brent and the band and how he feels like it's all sort of crumbling. He hasn't even told Ryan that much, although Ryan probably knows what he's thinking anyway.

"Hm," Jon says after a few moments. "It's a tough situation," he continues and taps his fingers against his knee, thinking. 

"Yeah," Spence says and pulls his knees up to his chest. It's after the show in Atlantic City and they're sitting in the restaurant, watching the staff close up the place; it's late already and Spencer is tired. They're not looking forward to another night on the bus, a little over three hours to Washington; all Spencer really wants is a bed and a real shower and marshmallows. He tells Jon as much. 

"Marshmallows are totally not rockstar food," Jon says with a grin, and finishes his beer. Spencer rolls his eyes and when the waitress gives him a mean look, he gets up followed by Jon. 

"Totally is. All that sugar gets me high," he replies and shakes his head, laughing. Jon huffs out a laugh and raises his Polaroid camera, snapping a shot just as they leave. Tom falls in step with them, coming out of nowhere. 

"Hey, Walker," he says, and Spencer looks up at him, trying to catch his eyes, but Tom won't even acknowledge him. 

"I gotta go meet Ryan," he says and starts towards his bus, trying not to run even though he wants to.

*

"So, I had sex with Tom Conrad," Spencer says when Ryan raises his camera to take a picture of the White House. Brendon and Brent are somewhere ahead, Zack on their heels, and Spencer is pretty sure now's the best moment.

Ryan lowers his camera and gives him a long look, then rolls his eyes. "Duh," he says, "I _know_ , Spence." 

Spencer frowns a little and glares at Ryan. "Okay, good, then we both know it." 

Ryan snorts a little, then raises his camera again and takes a shot of Spencer frowning at him. "It was sort of obvious," he replies, putting his camera into his bag. 

"What, no, it's not," Spencer says automatically. Ryan's smiling at him, small and a little curious too, and Spencer shrugs and falls into step with him, following Zack after Brendon and Brent down the street. 

Ryan laughs and hooks arms with him, shaking his head. "Come on, dude," he continues, teasing, and Spencer hides his face behind his collar.

*

So, this is how Valentine's Day happens. Norfolk is not a hotel night and Spencer feels really fucking tired after their show - venue too small, badly aired, too many kids out there - and all he really wants is sleep. He gets first shower; he scrubs the dirt and sweat off his body and out of his hair, and when he comes back into the dressing room, there's red light and the Butcher is sprinkling people with heart-shaped confetti.

"Spontaneous party!" Brendon yells over the music, jumping at Spencer's side, and Spencer gives Zack a helpless look, but he just gives him a thumbs up and turns back to talking to one of the guys from the venue. 

There's girls, too; somebody presses a glass of alcohol (and another and another) into Spencer's hands, the music echoing through the halls and rooms of the backstage area. Spencer sits with the Butcher, now on his third glass of JD and coke, and talks to him about drumming and how fucking amazing Andy Hurley is and that yes, Spencer would kiss Dave Grohl rather than Meg White.

"That's pretty gross," the Butcher says and pulls a face, finishing his beer. "The dude's got a fucking beard." 

"Yeah, well, so what," Spence replies, voice slurring a little, then takes the joint the Butcher offers him. It's his second drag that night, and with all the alcohol he's had already, he's starting to feel a little - very - woozy. 

The Butcher laughs out loud and Spencer reaches beside himself to pour himself another drink. More JD, less coke, and downs it halfway. "Maybe I _like_ beards," he says when he's done drinking and wiping his mouth. 

"Maybe I like your _mom_ ," the Butcher replies and starts laughing; Spencer gives him the finger, but leans back against the couch, lips curling into a grin. He nudges the Butcher's shin with the toe of his sneaker as somebody calls his name, then watches him get up and stumble over to whoever needed his attention. 

His vision wavers when he takes another sip from his drink (and another), then finishes it and puts the glass on the floor next to his foot. He closes his eyes, head falling against the backrest of the couch. The music is weaving around him, a little too loud to be entirely pleasant, but making his body hum. He turns his head, eyes opening slightly when a body settles next to him, and then smiles when he recognizes Tom. 

"Hey baby," Tom says, pressing close, one arm sliding around Spencer's shoulder, his other hand finding his thigh, squeezing softly. Spence hums a greeting, leaning into him, heart racing a little. 

"Come dance with me," Tom continues, nuzzling Spencer's ear, and Spencer shakes his head, laughing and blushing. He's not gonna dance with Tom here where everyone can see and when he can hardly stand. But Tom just grabs his hips and drags him up, holding him, pressed tightly against him. His fingers dig into Spencer's hips, holding tightly, and Spencer has to reach up to wrap his arms around his neck so he doesn't lose his balance. 

He sways them for a moment, in the rhythm to the song, kissing Spencer's chin, then humming into his ear. Spencer laughs, shaking his head, and tugs at Tom's hair, but doesn't pull away either. 

"Come on," Tom repeats, squeezing his hips. He's so close and so warm, and Spencer doesn't want to let go ever, so he sways in Tom's rhythm, nothing but a slow to and fro. Tom is whispering along to the song into his ear, his breath soft and hot, and Spencer shuts his eyes, sighing. 

Tom raises his voice a little. " _Can't you see what you've done to my heart_ ," he sings, then hums some of the verse; his voice is a little rough, but pleasant, mingling with the music. " _Yeah we slow hands, you put the weights all around yourself_ ," Tom continues, voice growing quieter, " _I admit my incentive is romance-_ " He switches to humming again and Spencer shakes his head, laughing, and then turns a little, pressing his mouth to Tom's, kissing him softly. 

Somebody hollers next to them, but Spencer ignores them, letting Tom pull him back onto the couch. They curl up there, kissing until Spencer pulls away, nudging his nose against Tom's. 

"What's with us?" he asks, a little breathless, the words just tumbling from his lips. "You only like me when you're drunk." 

Tom laughs and shakes his head, his hands still in Spencer's hair, stroking softly. " _You_ only like me when you're drunk," he says, then kisses him again. Somebody whistles, and when Spencer opens his eyes he sees Bill tumbling down onto the couch next to Tom. 

"Boys, boys," he says, and Spencer pulls away, pushing his hair out of his face. Tom groans and shakes his head, eyes narrowing a little; he turns a bit and looks at Bill while Spencer sort of hides behind him. They exchange a few words that Spence can't hear over the music and then Tom is pulling him up and out of the room, arm around his waist, holding his hip tightly. 

"Where're we going?" he asks, but lets Tom lead him outside anyway; it's chilly and Spencer shivers and curls against Tom when they sit on a bench just outside the venue. Tom fishes a battered pack of cigarettes from his jeans and puts one between his lips, flicking his lighter open. He takes a long deep draft, letting the smoke curl from his nose; Spencer watches him, looking up at his chin, lips, and puts his head on Tom's shoulder. 

"Fucking Valentine's Day," Tom says after a moment and pulls Spencer closer, arm around his shoulder, sort of possessive. 

"Valentine's Day sucks," Spencer chimes in, eyes closed. He doesn't know what they're doing or what's happening, but he'd rather they have this odd truce than their constant biting and clawing.

Tom finishes his cigarette and flicks it away, then turns his head and buries his nose in Spencer's hair; Spencer can feel his breath, warm and soft, and Tom's arm around him is comforting, steady but not forceful. 

"Why're we only like this when we're drunk?" he asks after a moment, turning his face against Tom's neck, lashes fluttering against Tom's skin. 

"Dunno," Tom replies quietly. "Dunno. You're pretty bitchy when you're not drunk." He laughs softly, but doesn't let go, and Spencer just presses a little closer.

"Shut up, you're not any better," he mumbles against Tom's skin and then wraps his arm around his middle. Tom carefully puts another cigarette between his lips, and they stay like this for a while, the cold creeping up the legs of Spencer's pants and making him shiver slightly as the alcohol slowly starts to fade. 

When Tom, cursing, finishes his pack of cigarettes, Spencer slowly disentangles himself from his arm, sitting up, blinking. "I'm so cold," he says and rubs his arms a little. Tom's giving him a curious, cautious look, and Spencer leans over and kisses the smoke from his lips. "Bus?" he continues, and Tom nods, finally. 

They undress to their underwear, shoving at each other's shoulders, and Tom leaves his stupid socks on, but Spencer really doesn't mind today. He's tired and cold and Tom curls up behind him in Spencer's tiny bunk, his naked chest pressed to Spencer's equally naked back, his socked feet pushing against Spencer's freezing toes until they fall asleep.

*

Tom doesn't, like, come to hang out with them for the whole day after that. But he has breakfast with Spencer and Brendon, is not an asshole, and at the next stop leaves for the Academy bus. Brendon buries is face in a donut and doesn't say anything.

They get into a routine somewhere between Atlanta and L.A. - of seeing each other, being with each other's friends, being in each other's space - and Spencer learns the architecture of Tom's sharp edges, both physical and mental. He learns that Tom is ticklish only when he plays Halo and that he talks in his sleep if he's not gone to bed drunk. 

Spencer tries to keep track of the times Tom nuzzles his neck when nobody is really looking, and tries to memorize the way his fingers splay out over his hips backstage after shows when they kiss. He doesn't even realize how much time has passed when Ryan reminds him one night that _dude, we're playing at home tomorrow_. 

"I fucking missed this city," Brent says when they pass the city border; they're all perched by the one window in the kitchenette (have been for over 20 minutes) waiting. Spencer stares outside, watches the suburbs pass and merge into the strip. It doesn't feel like coming home - he remembers the last time they played a show in Vegas, nobody even knew who they were. Ryan presses against him a little, letting his head rest on Spencer's shoulder. 

Brendon is unusually quiet, his hands on the window sill, eyes fixed on the outside. Spencer watches him for a moment, arm around Ryan's waist, then Brent nudges him and points outside at their venue and the smiling faces of their families.

*

Spencer spends the evening after the show with his family, curled up next to them on the couch, watching stupid Disney films. His mom has her arm around his shoulders like she's never going to let him go again and Spencer doesn't even want her to. The twins come crawling into his bed that night, and both of them cry when his dad drives him back to the venue to catch the bus the next morning.

They're barely out of Vegas, and Spencer already misses it so much he can't breathe. He sleeps curled up with Ryan in his bunk that night, and the night after, too, needing the comfort of a familiar, familial body. 

Tom shows up unannounced when they stop in San Diego, out of breath and grinning, and he has a white chocolate mocha for Spencer. 

"Still homesick, dude?" Tom asks sitting down, nudging Spencer's toes with his hand, fingers curling over his feet for a moment. 

"Shut up," Spencer says, for a moment falling back into his old tone, and then sits up, leaning against Tom. He smells clean, his shirt is fresh, and his beard scratches Spencer's cheek when he leans up to kiss him. They share breath for a moment, soft and lingering, until Spencer jerks away, barely avoiding spilling his coffee.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Brent says, ducking his head, knocking the lounge door shut again while Brendon peeks through the gap before disappearing, too. Spencer shakes his head and then can't help but start laughing; he turns his head and hides his face against Tom's neck, the tension of the week falling off him, miraculously.

*

Brent doesn't show up for the San Francisco show. Spencer can't exactly determine the time and place Brent decides it's appropriate to get high and subsequently lost on the metro, because he spends the afternoon on Tom's hotel bed, occupied.

Tom knocks him out of the shower two hours before the show because Brendon called and they can't find Brent. 

"Shit," Spencer curses, and awkwardly steps into his boxers and jeans, hopping around until they finally give in and pull up over his still-wet skin. "Fucking shit," he repeats, and sees Tom watching him curiously as he puts on his shirt and looks for his Sidekick. 

"That dude, you must've seen it coming," Tom eventually says. He shakes a cigarette from his half-smoked pack and lights it, hair standing up in all directions, and Spencer just wants to kick him in the side. They're on in two hours - no, seventy-six minutes now, because Spencer couldn't find his underwear - and Brent is nowhere to be found. 

"Shut the fuck up," he grits out, pushing his hair back. Tom made him stay, Tom dragged him off to the hotel room when he should've been out there, taking care of his - Ryan's - band. 

"Dude, I don't have him hidden in my fucking pocket," Tom cranks out, brows furrowing in visible annoyance. Spencer stares at him for a moment, brows knitting, then grabs his phone and his hoodie and jogs down into the lobby. 

"Where have you been? And why's Conrad answering your phone?" their tourmanager says; he looks more than worried, and Spencer wants to go and hide his head in the potted plant by the door and never come out again. 

Spencer opens his mouth to answer, but then Jon says, "Right, he's not on our bus either, I just called Bill." 

Spencer groans and rubs his eyes; they should be on their way to the venue now to do sound check and relax before the show, and instead they're worrying about a runaway bassist. They divide up in teams, and start searching the hotel and the immediate area; they keep calling Brent's phone. 

He and Jon are searching the pool and sauna area, shoes and socks in their hands, when Ryan calls. 

"Yeah?" Spencer says breathless, sweat trickling down his neck, the humid air making his chest hurt. 

"He's on the metro on the other side of the city," Ryan says. He sounds quiet and restrained, and Spencer winces in worry. They exit out into the hall and Spencer slips back into his shoes, stuffing his socks into the pockets of his jeans. 

"Will he make it?" he asks and Jon keeps watching him as they walk, eyes worried. Spencer hangs up when they get down to the lobby and he sees Ryan. 

"No," Ryan says and holds out Spencer's bag. "I got your things." Spencer takes the bag, and his hands are shaking; Jon reaches out as if to touch him, but Spencer takes a deliberate step forward into Ryan's personal space before they walk - run - outside to their waiting cab. 

"What're we gonna do?" Spencer asks feeling a surge of panic rise up inside him, bitter and vile. He tries breathing calmly for a few seconds because _he can't panic must not panic_. 

Brendon ends up having to cover Brent's bass parts while he sings, and Spencer bangs his drums and tries not to think of anything but getting this show over with as best as possible.

*

Brent shows up, out of breath and still high, twenty minutes after Spencer's showered and is sitting in the dressing room, waiting for Ryan to get done. He sits next to Spencer without a word, and Spencer grits his teeth and doesn't say anything.

"What're you gonna do?" Brent asks after a moment; Spencer turns to look at him and finds him reclined against the couch, eyes closed. He remembers playing video games with him and reading Spiderman and being stupid. 

"I don't know. It's not my decision to make." It's Ryan's band, he wants to add, but then doesn't because it doesn't seem fair. 

"I'm sorry," Brent eventually says, and then Brendon sits down between them; Spencer is always amazed by Brendon's innate ability to sense and relieve tension if necessary. He leans against him and puts his head on Brendon's shoulder. 

Spencer really wants to go outside, get his phone, and call Tom, who by now - is probably fucking smashed. It's not a good idea, though. He and Tom, they are convenient, they're not- whatever it takes to have the right to call when you don't know what to do about the bassist of your band.

*

Spence wakes to his phone vibrating under the pillow of his bunk, blindly grabs for it and picks up, thinking it's Ryan or his mom or whoever's crazy enough to call at 3 a.m.

"I wanna fuck you," Tom says - slurs - without preamble. Spencer blinks and shakes himself awake a little more to answer, but then Tom is already continuing, voice low and rough. "Love the way you beg me when I got my cock inside you-" 

Spencer sputters and flushes hotly, shaking his head. "Where- where the hell are you, and why are you calling me?" 

"Bunk, drunk," Tom says, voice a little raspy, the speed and depth of his breathing apparent. "Jerking off. Everybody's somewhere else."

Spencer swallows tightly and shifts onto his side, freeing his growing erection press against the mattress. "Why're you- why're you calling me when you-" 

"You know what I think about?" Tom interjects, then groans, and Spencer feels his own breath hitch, letting out a breathy little moan as he feels his erection strain against his boxers harder. "I think about coming on you, I want to so bad but I know you're not- you wouldn't- so I just think about it- shitjesusfuck-" Tom groans louder, the sound sending a hot shiver up Spencer's spine. "-about jerking off on you after fucking you or- when you blow me-" He breaks off again, panting through the line. 

Spencer bites his lip, whimpering and moving his hips up a little, not even wanting to. "I'd let you, I would," he grits out, trying to talk as quietly as possibly, then ducks under the blanket, hoping it'll muffle his sounds. 

"Shit, yeah?" Tom says and then nothing more, just breathy moans and groans and the rustle of fabric until he comes, sending a stream of profanities through the phone. 

"Did you-?" Spence asks unnecessarily, heart thudding hard and fast in his chest, breath coming quick. 

"Are you hard?" Tom asks instead of replying, and Spencer lets out a soft moan, affirmation. In the bunk above him, Ryan shifts with a groaning sound, mumbling in his sleep and Spencer freezes, holds his breath above the racing beat of his heart. 

"Finger yourself," Tom continues and Spencer has to bite his lip for a moment in order not to make a sound. 

"Can't. Not alone," he grits out, breathing through his nose, trying to make his erection go away.

"Come over here-" Tom starts, and Spencer has hung up and is out of his bunk, winding into his jeans and slipping on his shoes before the display of his phone has even turned off.

*

They don't kick Brent out. Spencer calls Pete on the next hotel night and sets the phone to speaker, Ryan sitting next to him on the bed, arms around his knees, lips tight. Spencer feels horrible for not having asked Brendon to come, but Brendon is rooming with Brent and. And it's still Ryan's band, after all.

*

The tour ends two weeks later in Chicago; Spencer feels both closure and tiredness, watching Academy play from backstage. He and Ryan are huddled together, their wet hair tousled, drinking diet soda. Brendon is singing and dancing along, and Spencer feels weirdly peaceful when William announces the last song - no really, this is the last song, for real now - and Tom starts stringing the first chords of _Checkmarks_.

Their flight takes off at eleven-thirty and Spencer is counting down the minutes to it; he can't tell whether he's afraid or excited and what the twisting sensation in his stomach is, and when Tom comes backstage finally, sweaty and his hair sticking up, Spencer can't help but smile at him, chin pressed against his knees. 

He waits for Tom to emerge from the showers in the hallway outside the Academy dressing room, reading news feeds on his phone. 

_im outside waiting_ , he texts finally, the voices behind the door getting louder; he doesn't wanna go inside there and talk to Bill because suddenly it all feels so awkward with all of them knowing who he's waiting for. 

Tom emerges three minutes later, with his belt unbuckled and a towel over his head. 

"What's up?" he says with a smirk and Spencer huffs out a frustrated breath and pulls him down for a kiss. He can feel Tom smiling against his lips, his beard gruff against Spencer's skin, and he wraps his arms around Tom's neck, not wanting to let go.

He breaks away after a moment and Tom leans down and presses their foreheads together. The moment is oddly solemn, tiny droplets of water finding their way down Spencer's hands from Tom's hair, their noses nudging. Spencer closes his eyes for a moment and then Tom's hands find their way up his back to his face, cupping his cheeks. 

"Twenty-four days 'til I see you again," Tom says and kisses him again. Spencer breaks away after a second when his phone starts buzzing sharply against his thigh.

"I have to go," he says, but kisses Tom again instead. 

"'Kay," Tom says against his lips, biting and sucking until Spencer pulls in a desperate breath and moves away to slip out from under his arms. 

He hesitates for a moment, hand hovering over the handle of the door outside, looking back; he's not sure what he wants to say, so he says nothing and slips outside, finding Ryan waiting for him, arms crossed, half a frown, half a smirk on his face. 

"You done playing Danielle Steele?" he asks, grinning, and Spencer rolls his eyes and punches his shoulder lightly.

*

It's good to be off tour again, only if it's not even for a month; they don't practice for a week, deciding their fingers need rest as much as their ears.

The concept of headlining - headlining the _UK_ \- seems too strange for Spencer to grasp, but he figures he better get used to it, since they'll be back on the road - plane - again on April, 17th.

*

The thing is, Pete doesn't exactly ask them first before making initial arrangements for a tour. He calls Spencer after the venues are scheduled, after the bus is booked, after their label has given the OK. There's no doubt Pete's skills of persuasion played a part in everything.

It's 5 in the morning in Vegas when Pete calls and Spencer rolls to his side to blindly grab for his phone, mumbling a sleepy hello. Fifteen minutes later, he's sitting cross-legged and heavy-eyed in the guestroom on Ryan's bed, his sidekick perched on a pillow between them, set to speaker. 

They're shellshocked, dumbfounded, euphoric; Spencer is clenching the sheets so tightly - as he listens to Pete rattle down the details of their contract - that the tips of his fingers start hurting.

*

Spencer calls Jon that night and catches him drunk, but intelligible, soft voiced and amused.

"I heard, dude!" Jon says and Spencer can hear the grin in his voice, honest and genuine and wide. "That's so fucking awesome!"

"I know," Spencer says, "and a little scary," he adds after a moment. "Very."

Jon laughs, then hums, as if he's thinking, and then finally continues. "Yeah, seriously. But really, you're all pros now. It'll be amazing."

Spencer nods, hesitant; he tells Jon about their week at home, and listens to Chicago stories and about how Bill nearly fell in the lake and how Pete Wentz is nothing but clinically insane. He, Spencer realizes, missed this; he missed talking to Jon because it's easy, because there is no hesitation, because he knows he doesn't have to be afraid to say what he's thinking.

"I'm afraid," he says after a moment of comfortable silence, "I'm afraid of taking Brent with us on tour. I'm afraid it'll mess him up and that it'll mess us up. I don't- I haven't told Ryan or anyone yet, but it worries me so much. We can't headline and then not have our bassist show up at concerts or rehearsals or soundcheck." He bites his lip, rubbing his eyes for a moment, sighing. "He' hasn't done a single rehearsal with us since we got back from tour."

Jon is silent for a long moment and Spencer listens to him think, consider, evaluate. "Yeah," Jon says finally, "I'm sure he has his reasons and there's always two sides to every story, but- sometimes, in a band, things that worked before just stop working. It's like as if a gear on a wheel gets lost or breaks, and then the whole machine is in danger of collapsing."

"Yeah," Spencer says. His chest feels tight, and for the first time he nearly wishes they hadn't signed that contract at Taco Bell with Pete's Cheshire Cat grin looming over their shoulders.

*

"So have you texted him yet?" Ryan says one day when they're sitting in the garden in the already biting light of the April sun; it's two days to Brendon's birthday and it's in the air, a hum, like fizzling electricity because Brendon's excitement is just that overwhelming.

"Who?" Spencer says, blinking his eyes a few times, trying to pay closer attention to their conversation. 

" _Tom_ ," Ryan says and rolls his eyes. He's peeling a tangerine, pushing his finger through the peel at the top and slowly pulling stripes of orange skin over the flesh. 

"Hm," Spencer replies. He can feel his lips curl into a small smile before he can stop it, so he shrugs a bit and pokes Luke's toy duck with the toe of his shoe and kicks it away, watching the Retriever run after it, barking. 

"You know, your _boyfriend_ ," Ryan continues and pops a piece of fruit in his mouth. 

Spencer lets out a little laugh and shakes his head, feeling very much like Ryan's tangerine. "He's not. My boyfriend, okay." 

Ross snorts and shakes his head, breaking off another piece of tangerine. "Oh, really," he says, chewing. "So you don't mind that he hasn't texted you?" 

Spencer bites his lip and reaches out to snatch what's left of the fruit out of Ryan's hands. "No. Yes. I mean." He shrugs and pops two pieces into his mouth, chewing concentratedly for a few moments. 

"Have you heard from Brent?" he finally says, sidetracking to a topic he knows Ryan can't ignore. 

Ryan blinks, once, twice, obviously confused for a second before he reaches down into the fruitbasket to their feet and starts peeling another tangerine. "No," he says. "He's been M.I.A. for like, ever." 

Spence nods. He doesn't know what to say; he doesn't want to be mad at Brent, but he also thinks that this isn't the way things are supposed to be. "Maybe he'll show at Brendon's birthday," he eventually replies. 

"Yeah," Ryan says, "he better."

*

"Hi," Spencer says tentatively, "Hi, I know we haven't talked in forever and I. I don't know, I sort of just wanted to hear your voice." He stops again, listening to the silent hum of the voicemail, suddenly embarrassed. "I guess. I guess you're busy," he continues, biting his lip, stomach twisting a little. "Call me when you have more time?"

He hangs up and drops his Sidekick on his bed, watching it tumble down his pillow and onto the duvet. He stares at it for a moment and then gets up when his mom calls from downstairs. Down the hall and down the stairs, down, down and he's trying to tell himself he's not sad, because it's not like he and Tom are together or dating or whatever. They had sex a few times and Tom kissed him goodbye but didn't say he'd call or anything. Spencer is not disappointed, he's not. He's old enough, he knows how these things go. 

He smiles at his mom when he gets downstairs and helps her set the table, his shoulders feeling a little tense. Ryan returns from the garden a few minutes later, sunglasses and redtipped nose and all, blinking as he takes off his shades, squinting as his eyes adjust. Spencer smiles at him a bit, but there must have been something in his eyes, showing, because Ryan tilts his head questioning. 

His glance flies over Spencer's mom preparing the salad and then back to Spencer, and he mouths "later" at Spencer; Spence nods. Later is better; he'd rather not talk about a gay sex affair he's had (is having?) with a guy his mother would surely not approve of.

*

There's two calls from Tom's number on his phone when they return back upstairs and Ryan tilts his brows at him, knowingly. Spencer scrambles to his phone and Ryan sits on the couch, knees drawn up to his chest, face stern as if he's prepared to kill Tom from a distance if there's bad news.

Spencer hits call back and waits for the dull ring indicating the setup of the line; it rings, twice, three times, and then Tom picks up, voice gruff. 

"'ello?" he says and Spencer feels his voice get caught in his throat. He throws a helpless glance towards Ryan, suddenly embarrassed to be on the phone while he's in the same room. 

"Hey," he says hesitantly, and Ryan seems to get the hint because he gets up, nodding softly at Spencer and slipping out the door, closing it quietly. 

"Hey," Spencer says again, a little more confident, heart beating fast. 

"You said that already," Tom replies and he sounds a little more awake now. 

"Sorry," Spence says and bites his lip. He sits down on his bed gingerly, staring at his socked feet. They're not matching, one with tiny stars and the other a bright green, and Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, trying to concentrate. 

"I missed your voice, too," Tom says, and it sounds earnest and tired. Spencer closes his eyes for a moment and then lies back on the bed, turning onto his side. He inhales to speak, but Tom keeps talking. 

"Sorry I didn't call," he says, "Things have been so crazy. With- with Mike and Bill and shit."

"What's wrong?" Spencer reaches up and rubs his eyes, feeling very far away. 

"Nothing just-" Tom stops again as if he's not sure what to say, then continues. "It's hard at the moment. Writing music."

"Oh," Spencer says. "I'm sorry." He doesn't know what else to say, helpless and unprepared. 

Tom is silent for a long moment and Spencer closes his eyes, listens to their breathing, the shared quiescence on the line, then sighs softly. 

"Hey," he says for a third, and then again, "hey, hey."

"Hey," Tom finally replies, laughing a little, amusement in his voice. "I'll see you again in, like, eight days." 

"Yeah," Spence says with a smile, "England will be crazy again." He closes his eyes, trying to picture Tom's expression, his smile, crooked, teeth and lips and three-day beard. 

"We're doing a summer tour. Headlining," he continues after hearing Tom's agreeing hum. "That's so crazy." 

"Yeah, it is." Tom is quiet for a long moment and Spencer tries to read through the silence. "Pete's a madman. You scared?"

Spence nods for a moment, trying to imagine headlining a whole tour, a whole summer long, through dozens of cities, with tens of thousands of kids, there just to see them. "Yeah, yeah I am."

*

Spencer gets tired of calling Brent and getting kicked off the line each and every time, so he stops after the sixth day. It's not like he doesn't want to talk to Brent - he does, Brent is his friend, still, even if Ryan isn't really talking to him anymore - but Spencer has a sense for personal space and he respects it.

He hangs out with old friends, gets drunk more than two times and sneaks into a casino with his dad. 

It's all strange - not like the last time they were back home; he's gotten used to the to and fro and the hugs and the sad looks his mother sometimes throws him - and Ryan - when she thinks they're not watching. He's gotten used to not unpacking everything completely and to not starting anything that he can't finish within two weeks. 

Now Spencer feels nervous. He wakes one night - in cold sweat and breathing hard, his chest heaving from a nightmare like he hasn't had in years; he never dreams, or remembers, and suddenly he's scared to go to England again.

*

Brendon's birthday party at his parents' house is sort of a mix between a kids party, a circus, a barbecue and a family reunion; Spencer feels oddly out of place, even though he's always gotten along very well with Brendon's family. They're nice - easy going, friendly, loving, easy to talk to, and Spencer's had dinner with them so often he's stopped counting. He keeps checking his phone for messages, not really sure what he's waiting for. He'll see Tom again in six days, less even, and it took them nearly two weeks of radio silence to finally talk to each other the last time.

He sighs a little and reaches for another chicken wing, carefully ripping it apart. Across from him Brendon gives him a funny look, then reaches out and grabs a wing himself. 

"Just today," he says, and Spencer snorts and shakes his head; meat is always _just-today_ for Brendon when it's hard to resist; Shane nudges his elbow against Brendon's, laughing a little, and Brendon pushes back. Spencer watches them for a moment until Shane looks up and meets his eyes with a questioning look. He tilts his head, curious, neutral, and Spencer smiles and shrugs, looks away. 

Ryan's perched in his chair, balancing precariously on the edges of the hind-legs, texting furiously; his brows are furrowed, his lip bitten, his eyes flickering. Spencer doesn't have to ask to know who he's texting with. 

Ryan notices his gaze and smiles a little, nearly embarrassed, and flips his phone shut; he shrugs a little and awkwardly moves his legs, letting his chair drop back onto the floor. 

"Hey, hey, so," Brendon says suddenly, leaning over, eyes flicking to glance at his parents for a moment. 

"Hm?" Ryan hums. Shane, too, scoots closer, hands folded on the table as if he's already in on the secret, which he probably is. Spencer tilts his head, curious, smiling a little. 

"What," he says and Brendon's face splits into a grin. 

"Can we party tonight?" He sits back in his chair, tilting it back until it nearly tips over, eyes shining.

*

They don't discuss Brent not showing for Brendon's birthday party the same way they don't discuss the fact that Brent has not returned any of their calls.

He calls on the last day before England to confirm the dates and times of the flight, and Spencer answers begrudgingly, suppressing the surge of smoldering anger he suddenly feels. 

"I don't think this is how it should be," he finally says that night after dinner when he and Ryan are sitting in his room, packing and unpacking and packing again. 

Ryan is quiet for a very long moment, carefully folding one of Spencer's T-shirts, eyes lowered, brows furrowed as if he's considering each word. "I know," he says finally, "it shouldn't be like this at all." 

"Jon says," Spencer starts, poking a pair of shoes with the very tip of his fingers, watching it rocking for a moment. "Jon says that one missing tooth on a wheel in a machine can make the entire thing collapse." He looks up again and meets Ryan's eyes, folding his hands in his lap. "I'm scared," he says, "because I don't want this or us or him to collapse, or all of it- and." He stops, shrugging. 

Ryan swallows visibly, then finally nods. "Yeah, neither do I." He takes a breath, then another, folding two, three of Spencer's shirts, and then finally continues. "Let's wait. Let's wait and see how this goes."

*

Brent is on time at the airport in Las Vegas, but Tom, as they board their connecting flight in Chicago, is not. Spencer texts him, furiously, and when Tom finally shows up, he nearly wants to walk over and punch him. He sits still instead, squeezed between Ryan and Jon, and watches William wander over, hands in his pockets, face serious. They argue and Spencer tries not to watch; he can't read Tom's expression behind his Ray Ban sunglasses anyway.

Tom storms off to check his baggage and then sits alone in the smoker's area with a coffee and a cigarette, eyes fixed on his phone. 

Spencer sits next to Ryan on the plane, blocking the noise of the people around him out with his earphones. He falls asleep soon after takeoff and when he wakes up again, it's because Tom and Ryan are awkwardly exchanging seats, Spencer's iPod has gone to sleep.

"Just wanna sit closer to the window," Tom says and Ryan nearly laughs and shakes his head.

"Sure, whatever," Ryan replies and then sits down in the empty seat in their row, making room for Tom to sit next to Spencer.

Spencer squints at Ryan, blinking himself fully awake, and turns sideways in his seat to look at Tom. He's taken off his glasses and he looks tired, his eyes a little red. Spencer sighs softly and closes his eyes again, too sleepy to complain or accuse, and then Tom's hand finds his thigh, squeezing softly.

"Hey," he says, and then again until Spencer opens his eyes again, "Sorry I didn't text you back. I was trying to juggle my suitcases and a stupid fucking cabdriver."

"It's alright," Spence says; his body is tingling a little, not arousal but something else, something sweeter. He looks around, catches Ryan's eyes for a moment, gets a mocking look, and then leans in a little, tugging Tom down by his T-shirt.

"Hmph," Tom says, but then kisses back lightly, nipping at his lips until Spencer pulls away again. He reaches out and gently cups Spencer's cheek in his palm, and then kisses him again, more deeply until Ryan nudges them, rolling his eyes.

"Get a _room_ ," he says, glaring, but Spencer can see the smile tugging at his lips.

*

Spencer doesn't quite notice the tension until the third day, when Tom pulls him into an empty room backstage after the show in Glasgow and kisses him like he's afraid it'll be the last time. Tom bites and nibs at his lips, groaning against his lips, tugging and pulling at Spencer's jeans until Spencer shakes his head and reaches down to stop him.

"Hey," he says, "hey, Tom, what."

"Nothing," Tom replies, voice tight, and leans in for another kiss, pushing Spencer into the wall, his hands on Spencer's hips, keeping him still. His pupils look blown and Spencer can't remember seeing him drink that much tonight, but then, he'd been busy busy trying to keep his own band together tonight. He arches up against Tom, instinct driving his tired muscles, gripping Tom's shoulder tightly, and kisses him again, nipping at his lips softly. 

He can feel the tension in Tom's stance, in his muscles and his kiss and the way he breathes against Spencer's lips like he's having troubles breathing. Tom presses closer against him, covers Spencer's body with his own, hungry, needy, and Spencer groans a little and lets his head drop back when Tom moves to kiss over his neck, pulling the hem of his T-shirt down over his collarbone and shoulder, biting. 

He wants to ask what happened, what shook Tom so, but he knows he won't be getting any answers, not right now, not right here, when all Tom seems to want is the sweet feel of skin against skin. 

"I love your freckles," Tom breathes against his skin and tucks his hands under Spencer's T-shirt, pushing it up and over his head. Spencer exhales harshly and tips his head back against the wall, his knees weak. "I- can we?" Tom says, and Spencer appreciates the hesitant, questioning tone in his voice, his body tingling. 

He reaches down and fumbles Tom's fly open, dipping his hands inside, biting his lip as he watches Tom's face. "Yeah, yeah," he says, and drops his head back against the cold concrete of the wall to grant Tom access.

*

They're falling apart and Spencer sees it now; Brent spends his days and nights in his bunk, eats, texts, reads, watches TV in there, and only braves going outside during morning calls and before soundcheck; sometimes not even then. Brendon is jittery, he stumbles over his words during songs and there's dark rings under his eyes. And Ryan. Ryan. Spencer worries about Ryan - more than anything else, more than the fact that Brent avoids them, the fact that they've all stopped clicking, more than this band.

He's quiet and pale, and Spencer has to remind him to eat during meals, push his plate over the table and nudge his elbow. He's glued to his Sidekick, more than usual, fingers racing over the keys to relay one message after another across the ocean. Spencer knows it's just idle lyrics and tiny thoughts, most of them directed at Pete - because Pete is Ryan's output, but he also wonders if Ryan has told Pete about this. This situation. He wonders if he's supposed to tell him.

"Call him," Tom says, when Spencer asks him, curled up against him in Tom's bunk, rain drumming heavily against the metal skin of the bus, a steady thrum, cold seeping in from outside. Spencer hums and thinks and only belatedly notices a tone in Tom's voice, something grim and solid and decided.

"He'd wanna know, 'cause he's Pete and he always wants to know every shitty little thing," Tom continues, softer, voice nearly joking, his nose pressed into Spencer's hair, his breath warm. "Hell, maybe he can help."

"Alright," Spencer says.

He calls that night after the show in Leeds - two more to go, two more to go - hoping he got the time zones right this time.

Pete answers, mumbling, sleepy, but conscious, intelligible; he sounds like he's been up too long, only just went to bed, and Spencer, for a moment, feels guilty and questions whether this is actually important enough to call. 

"Uh, hi," Spence says. He reaches down and tugs at a loose thread on the knee of his jeans, stopping when it won't budge. "Hi."

"Spencer," Pete says sleepily, "Spence Wentz, my favorite, how's England, dude?"

Spencer is quiet for a moment, throat feeling tight. He feels like he's going to spoil his dad's Christmas enthusiasm by telling him that the present he bought isn't actually what he wanted. "It's," he starts hesitant, "it's awesome." He bites his lip, considers, rethinks, then continues. "We love it- just."

Pete must have heard the tone in his voice, because when he speaks now, he sounds more aware, worried, awake. "What's wrong, Spence?"

"We're not-" Spencer starts, and then he's lost all the carefully collected words, all the phrases and explanations. "We're not working anymore and it's like one wheel in a gear and it goes missing or something, or it's still there but misses a tooth, and then-"

He stops, rubbing his eyes, and listens as Pete thinks for a moment. 

"Okay," Pete finally says, "Okay. Did- Start again. Slowly, dude." He laughs a bit, but it sounds hollow and worried, and Spencer buries his forehead against his knees and starts over.

*

They ask Brent to leave on the eleventh of May; Spencer thinks for a moment, hysterically elated before they call him, that this is like Caesar's death, but then remembers that the Ides referred to are actually sometime in March. He brushes his hair out of his eyes, hitting the 'Call' key on his phone.

He stumbles over his words, over and over, and Brendon takes his hand and holds it, staring away at the far wall, foot tapping against the floor, his bottom lip pulled tightly between his teeth. 

They don't talk afterwards. Ryan has his knees pulled up to his chest, his face dark and determined. Spencer drops the phone in his lap and closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the backrest of the couch.

*

"He said," Spence says, "he's not gonna play Weenie Roast with us." He's curled up in his bed, phone tucked under his ear, blanket over his head.

"Huh," Tom says. He sounds tired and worn, like he does when he doesn't sleep enough. "No?" 

"No," Spencer repeats. He doesn't know why he has to say this again, and why Tom is not offering advice, why Tom is not saying anything useful - their band is threatening to fall apart, and all Tom has to say is _huh_. 

Tom stays quiet. Spencer can hear him breathing, remembers the sound and rhythm of his heartbeat and feels his stomach drop. 

"Fine, y'know what," he says, "I'm calling Jon. At least he'll have something to say."

"You do that," Tom says angrily, "I have my own shit to deal with, you know?" He hangs up and Spencer sits up and stares at his phone, dumbfounded for a moment. He switches it off before he can do anything stupid like call Tom again.

*

Spencer doesn't call Jon. Brendon calls Pete for advice and Brendon calls Jon, setting him to speaker while Spencer is lying on the couch, his head on Ryan's shoulder. Jon doesn't sound surprised when Brendon breaks the news to him.

Spencer listens to his voice and closes his eyes, his nose turned against the crook of Ryan's neck. He'll come, Jon says, and take the next flight and be there tonight. It's no big deal and he wants nothing but a tour through Vegas and a crepe at that awesome place Ryan knows.

*

Tom doesn't call again until Weenie Roast, and then he's actually calling Jon, asking him where he is. Spencer watches Jon talk on the phone, grinning and gesturing, as they agree on a meeting point, and bites his lip to contain his anger.

He wants to rip the phone from Jon's hands and tell Tom to call _him_ and not Jon and to stop being a dick, but all he can do is turn around and walk away. They're playing in the evening and it's two hours until soundcheck and Spencer would really like some dinner before then, if possible. 

He finds a burger booth and buys something greasy and wonderfully gross that Brendon would terribly disapprove of, and sits in front of the tent to eat. It's warm, even for a May day at the west coast, and Spencer can already feel a light sunburn starting to spread on his exposed neck. 

He finishes his fries and his burger and when he gets up to buy a soda, William walks past him, face dark and stern, Tom on his heels; they're arguing, indignant, nearly shouting. 

Spencer stares after them, confused, squinting against the sun, feeling it burn through his eyelids to his retinas. Huh, he thinks, _huh_.

*

They ask Jon to go on tour with them after the concert, when they're all sitting in the audience listening to the Red Chili Peppers playing their last song.

"Would you?" Spencer says, trying to keep his voice neutral. Ryan is curled up against his side, half asleep already, and Brendon is clinging to Jon like a little monkey, eyes big and black and wet. 

"Yeah," Jon says thoughtfully, looking on ahead, eyes fixed on the stage, "yeah, I think I would."

Ryan shifts against Spencer and he curls his arm more tightly around Ryan's shoulders, holding him or holding on. 

"It's not gonna be-" Ryan starts quietly, nearly inaudible, "it'll be for the tour, for now, alright?"

Jon smiles softly, turning his head to meet Spencer's eyes, his face soft, peaceful. "Yeah, I know," he replies. He drops his cheek against his knees, Brendon's arms around his neck, and taps a cigarette from his battered pack. 

"One summer," he repeats, grinning, and lights his cigarette.

*

He caves in a week before the tour starts and calls Tom, who picks up at the second ring and doesn't say anything until Spencer does.

"I hate you," Spencer says, and buries his forehead in his pillow. 

"I'm sorry," Tom responds, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry." He sounds tired and worn and beaten and Spencer immediately feels guilty.

"I thought we were," Spencer says and inhales hot, sticky air through the fabric of his pillow. "I thought-" he stops again, unable to form words around the concept in his head. 

"I know," Tom says. "I have so much fucking shit going on right now, so much, it's all eating me up." 

"What's wrong?" Spencer still can't see, is still breathing pre-filtered air, poor in oxygen, to keep his hysteria down. 

"Nothing," Tom starts and then sighs, exasperated, "Everything." 

"I'm sorry," Spencer says and doesn't even know why he's apologizing. 

"It's not your fault," Tom says with a sigh. "It's nobody's fault." 

"Tell me what's happening, Conrad," Spencer sighs and finally turns onto his back, breathing in fresh, cool air. His heart is beating so hard and so fast that he can feel the rhythm echoing through his chest, vibrating through his bones. Tom is quiet for a long moment, inhaling as if to start a few times, but stopping himself each time, until the tension inside Spencer is so big he thinks he's going to burst. 

"I can't," Tom eventually says. "I can't. It's- it's band shit-"

Spencer swallows tightly, feeling vile bitterness on his tongue and blinks rapidly a few times, not wanting to cry over this. "Okay."

"I miss you," Tom continues. Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and feels like the biggest idiot in the world.

*

It's a little crazy, headlining is. Spencer never realized how many people actually know and like them until he sees all those kids showing up to their shows, specifically for them, buying tickets and merch and standing in line, camping outside the venue just to be the first inside.

The band has costumes, which is even crazier, but Spencer puts on his funny pants and his funny shirt without complaining because this was Ryan's idea and this sort of is Ryan's band, and it's not that bad, really. Ryan draws on their faces before the show, eyeliner for Jon, smudgy smokey eyes for Brendon and blue eye shadow for Spencer. He draws birds on his face and is happy on stage, so Spencer will do nothing to spoil this for him. 

He gets used to the buzz after a few shows, and even Brendon gets calmer, more collected, voice growing more and more practiced. 

They sit together before they go on stage, rarely talking but focused, huddled together, and Spencer thinks that this is how it should be.

*

Spencer doesn't quite know what to think of the fact that Pete texts Ryan about seven billion times a day and Ryan flushes hotly every time somebody talks about Pete Wentz. He watches Ryan's face at night after their shows, when he texts to and fro, and feels inexplicably jealous.

He texts Tom again on their date in Las Vegas, sitting in the backyard of his house, with Jon talking amiably to his mother. He cranes his neck to peek through the open patio door into the kitchen, watching his sisters, watching Jon and his parents, and then turns back to stare at his phone. 

Jon notices him looking, he must have, because he excuses himself and steps outside, sitting cross-legged next to him, head tilted back and eyes squinting against the morning sun. 

"Hey," he says and Spencer waits a second or two before dropping his head on Jon's shoulder for exactly five seconds.

"Hey," he responds and sits up again, arms wrapped around his knees. 

"You ok?" Jon asks and Spencer nods and then shakes his head, and sighs a little. 

"Don't know," he finally says and tries to smile. He doesn't know how much Jon knows - how much he gathered from Tom and Spencer's sneaking around, how much Tom told him, and just how much Jon has turned a blind eye to - so he doesn't know how much he can tell him. 

"It's all fucked up," he finally says, "I don't know anymore what's going on and how and why and-" He stops shrugging and meets Jon's eyes, feeling young and helpless. 

"Ditto," Jon says, eyes weirdly soft. He raises his hand as if to touch Spencer, but then moves to play with his lighter.

*

Spencer thought they could've stayed friends because that's how they started out, and this, this is only a band, it's business. Hearing Brent's anger - justified or not - over the phone makes him realize that this is not just a band. They've grown to become more than that.

*

They don't read the Spin article; Zack buys the magazine because he collects everything that mentions the band, but he won't show it to them, and Spencer is actually thankful. He calls Pete that night and asks how bad it is, and Pete only laughs and tells him it's not nearly as bad as anything that's ever been said about him.

"That's true, dude," Spencer says laughing, shaking his head. "Nobody ever spread nudes of us on the internets either."

Pete laughs out loud. "Oh, Spence, that can be arranged." 

Spence snorts. "I wouldn't take my clothes off for you in a million years, Peter." 

"Damn," Pete says, "here you got me hopin' already."

*

The fans love Jon. Spencer spends one lazy afternoon with Brendon, giggling and biting his fist, scrolling through various boards and internet communities, looking for reactions. There appears to be general agreement that Jon Walker can do no wrong and that he's made of puppies, rainbows and sunshine.

Brendon laughs and shakes his head, grin wide, eyes sparkling with amusement.

*

The summer is hot - mostly full of warm evenings and sweat on stage and sticky dressing room air. It doesn't cool down at night, not too much; Spencer learns to appreciate the cool hours of dawn, when they're not driving between cities, to just be outside and breathe fresh air again.

At some point - Spencer can't exactly remember anymore where, possibly Fort Lauderdale  
or St. Petersburg - Jon starts joining him, carrying two cups off double shot cappuccinos and his camera. They sit together outside in the twilight, watching the sun rise between trees or skyscrapers or mountains. 

"Thanks," Jon says in Orlando. Nearly a month has passed since they started touring, and there is a routine now: getting up early for Spencer if he knows they've stopped somewhere overnight and sleeping in the afternoon. 

"Thanks for taking me on tour," Jon continues. He sounds genuine and thankful and Spencer closes his eyes, still sipping his perfectly made coffee, and tips his head onto Jon's shoulder. 

"Hey," Jon says. "Don't fall asleep on me here and leave me alone with the morning."

*

Jon is like a puzzle piece, Ryan tells him one cold morning on the bus, when the two of them wake curled around one another in Spencer's bunk, huddled together for warmth. Ryan's voice is sleepy, but he sounds lucid and clear, as if he's had some big revelation, as if it's all coming together.

"He is," Spencer agrees.

*

Spencer keeps texting Tom at night and sometimes receives little, one-syllable answers. Tom is on Warped, he knows, and the band must be busy and festivals tours are hell, but he still wishes there'd be some sign of life once in a while.

He emails Tom one night, with pictures Jon took on a lazy morning in Norfolk, their bus parked next to an open space of green and grass and trees. There's the sun rising between leaves with Spencer's freckly face haloed. 

Spencer checks all the pictures carefully to make sure he doesn't look stupid in any of them and realizes, surprised, that he doesn't hate himself in any of them, that Jon appears to be the only person capable of taking pictures of him that Spencer actually likes. 

_This is us_ , he writes, _in Norfolk, VA. It was not even six when I got up and I had to nap again in the afternoon, but I guess this morning was worth it._

_It reminded me of England. Here's some pictures._

He hits send, telling himself he doesn't expect a reply.

*

"Jon, Jon!" Brendon says at the breakfast table in a little diner in Hampton Beach. Spencer grins and leans forward, putting his chin in his hands, waiting for Brendon to break the news. Ryan is wibbly, pulling out his computer and setting it down on the table top.

"Look," he says and smiles, "look." 

Jon looks at the screen. After a moment he tilts his head at Ryan, then flicks his gaze over to Spencer, who just grins wider, waiting for him to notice. 

"Look more _closely_ ," Brendon says. "Check the memberlist." 

Jon's eyes flicker back to the screen and then they widen; he stares at the screen for a few moments and Spencer watches his face change, his heart racing a little. 

"Yeah?" Ryan says and nudges his shoulder against Jon's. "Say yes." 

"You guys," Jon says, laughing, "that's like, totally romantic, seriously." He covers his grin with his left hand, twisting around a little; he shakes his head, sitting back, laughing again. 

"I know, we're totally proposing band marriage to you right here and now," Brendon says. 

"Alright," Jon says. "And by that I mean fuck yes." 

Brendon wraps his arms around him and squeezes him, and Jon moves to wrap his arm around Ryan's shoulder to pull him close too. Spencer looks at them, smiling, feeling like this is one of the best decisions they've made in a long time.

*

Spencer calls Tom again in Columbus after the show, drunk on beer and whiskey. The TV in the dressing room was on and there was footage of Warped playing, which made Spencer's stomach twist and sting until he couldn't take it anymore.

He climbs on top of the venue's flat roof, up the fire ladder, sneakers scraping over the rusty metal. He leans back against the chimney, scrolls down to Tom's number and hits call with his head spinning, patterns appearing in the starry sky. 

Tom picks up after six rings; Spencer, nearly half asleep, jerks awake at the rough sound of Tom's voice. 

"Yeah?" Tom says. 

"It's me," he replies and drops his head back against the warm concrete. 

"I know." Tom is quiet for a long moment. "How are you?" 

"I don't know," Spencer says. He really doesn't. He misses Tom so much he can barely breathe and all he's getting is generic smalltalk. "I miss you so much I can't breathe." It comes out before he can stop himself and he squeezes his eyes shut tightly to make his head stop spinning. 

"I'm sorry," Tom says, "I don't deserve you." 

Spence huffs out a cynical laugh and shakes his head. "Maybe." He swallows tightly. "No, no, you do," he reiterates, suddenly scared. 

"I'm falling apart," Tom says and Spencer only now realizes that Tom might be as drunk as he is, if not more. "We just rocked motherfuckin' San Diego and I feel like I want to puke out the whole world." 

"We're in Columbus," Spencer says helplessly. 

"I know," Tom replies. "I looked it up. One day and nine hours away. I looked it up tonight before the show and thought about how to get there." 

"Me too," Spence says and feels his heart sting a little. "Why didn't you guys come on tour with us?" 

Tom laughs a little. "Because that shitty Wentz dude booked us for Warped." 

"Fuck that dude," Spence says, smiling a little. 

"Where are you when we play Denver, Spence?" Tom is starting to sound tired, and so is Spencer. He should get off the roof before his feet refuse to let him get up again. 

"On our way to Salt Lake City? We have no show on that day." He bites his lip. "But I can ask."

"Okay," Tom says. "Okay."

*

"Damn," Spencer says and smudges his eyeliner again, trying to correct his obvious failure. He sets the tip down on his skin again and aims for an exact line, sighing when it doesn't work again. Ryan looks at him through the mirror and then scoots over, snatching the pen from Spencer's fingers.

"You're doing it all wrong," he says. "You're messing it all up." Half his face is already covered in red eyeshadow, scrawny squiggles making their way up his cheek. 

"Sorry," Spencer says with a sigh and looks up so Ryan can fix him. He's gotten used to this, and even though Jon would laugh at him if he said it, he's started to feel weird going on stage during soundcheck with no makeup on. 

Jon is still bravely resisting Ryan's attempts to draw him (literally) to the dark side, although he's caved in and puts on some eyeliner before each show himself to, as he says, fit in.

*

 _thanks for lending us your best friend; he's awesome. we might not give him back._ , he texts Tom one day after Jon hands him a cup of coffee in the dim light of a cold morning, as they wait between nameless cities.

He attaches a picture of himself and Jon hidden behind their cups, the mess of the bus, and half of Brendon's ear.

Tom doesn't reply but Spencer is getting used to that.

*

"I'm not in love with Pete Wentz," Ryan says indignantly. "I'm not, and he's not in love with me." Spencer gives him a raised brow and reaches for another chocolate covered marshmallow.

"Right," Spencer says. He's sitting back against the couch in the bus lounge, the O.C. running on the TV, an episode they've already seen a hundred times. He nudges Ryan's leg with his big toe. 

"Seriously," Ryan says and shakes his head, popping a piece of candy in his mouth, "I'm not gay." 

"But you kissed him," Spencer counters, because he knows Ryan did kiss Pete Wentz, because he found Pete's blogspot not too long ago and there were some more or less cryptic entries there. 

Ryan rolls his eyes and nudges back, but then breaks into a huge grin. "So what," he says. "That doesn't make me gay, still." 

Spencer laughs and shakes his head, answering Ryan's grin with one of his own, and doesn't think about Tom, really.

*

Every time Jon is on the phone with Tom, Spencer wants to smash something. He can't even explain it to himself, this jealousy, because that's not who he is, and he knows that Tom and Jon have known each other for a long time. Spencer realizes that whatever's going on between him and Tom obviously does not span the distance between their separate tours.

One night in Toronto, where it's hotter than Spencer thought it would be for Canada, he and Jon are sitting outside the venue before the show, listening to the dim sounds of The Hush Sound playing their last few songs. 

Jon has been unusually restless lately, smoking more than his occasional cigarette, and Spencer had gone with him to buy a new pack just before soundcheck that day. 

"What's up?" Spencer sighs, playfully nudging his body against Jon's, taking another sip from his diet coke. 

Jon is quiet for the time it takes him to shake out a cigarette from his battered pack and light it. Before the first drag he says, "You- and. You and Tom."

Spencer looks up and watches him blow smoke from his nose, his heart racing. "What about me and Tom," he replies, trying to sound nonchalant. 

"I don't know," Jon says. He's staring on ahead and Spencer feels his chest get tight. 

"There's nothing," he says, and doesn't know why. He's going to see Tom in eight days and he just lied to Tom's best friend even though things will be obvious then anyway. "Why?" He tilts his head and tries to hide his expression. 

Jon just shrugs a little, his expression softening a little as he continues to drag on his cigarette. He lets the smoke curl from his mouth and then reaches out to tug a strand of Spencer's hair behind his ear, nearly smiling.

"You should get it cut," he says. "You're starting to look like a chick."

Spencer laughs a bit and turns away, Jon's hand accidentally ghosting down his cheek before withdrawing. "Shut up, dude," he says, shaking his head.

*

Spencer doesn't think Jon meant to kiss him. Spencer thinks Jon is really, really drunk, and Spencer has just gotten his hair cut so it's nice to touch, he understands that, so he really thinks that it was an accident.

He makes a tiny, surprised sound, his eyes wide and open, and watches Jon's flutter shut. He has a light shadow of a beard, scruff, but not painful, and his lips are soft yet assertive, nipping at Spencer's until Spencer's alcohol-muddled brain tells him to give in because Jon tastes like whiskey and it doesn't matter, and Spencer probably won't remember this in the morning anyway. 

Jon presses closer, pushes away the couch pillow Spencer had placed in his lap as they watched the Ring for the fourth time (not to hide his face, really) practically climbing on top of him, his breath hot and fast as their kiss breaks. 

Spencer stares up at him for a moment and then snaps back a little, trying to roll away, twisting his hips against Jon's grip on them. 

"Okay, no," he says. "Sorry, I just-" He squeezes out from under Jon and stumbles to his feet, wobbly, steadying himself against the TV when he finally comes to stand. Jon turns a little, squinting up at him, mouth agape, confusion written in his face. 

"I'm drunk," Spencer says. "I can't, I'm drunk- sorry-"

He rubs his hand over his face and stumbles away to the empty bunk area, crawling into Ryan's bunk on instinct.

*

He calls Tom later that night, stumbling from the bus and outside into the fresh night air, hands shaking as he fumbles for his phone.

"Please pick up, please pick up," he chants and Tom finally does after three rings. Spencer collapses on a nearby step, putting his head between his knees to stop himself from hyperventilating. 

"Hi," he says, "hi."

"Spence," Tom responds. "I missed you," he says, atypically. 

Spence opens and closes his mouth, barely able to keep the truth from spilling between his lips. Instead he says, "I wish you could come on tour with us."

Tom laughs a bit, his voice rough, and Spencer can nearly feel his chest quiver beneath his ear, like he knows it does when Tom is laughing. "I would in a heartbeat," he says. "But things are going haywire here." 

"We can always use another guitarist," Spence says, smiling. "You could sleep in my bunk, I wouldn't mind." 

Tom makes an amused sound. "I bet you wouldn't."

*

Spencer nearly tells Ryan because he tells Ryan everything, but this. He can't. He tries to tell _himself_ that there's nothing to tell because nothing happened; they were drunk and seriously, drunk dudes do a lot of stupid shit, so he's not going to make a big deal out of it.

He does remember, though, playing Halo through his hangover, what Jon asked him outside that venue in Toronto. His legs were crossed and he still remembers Jon's beard scraping over his cheek. He's going to see Tom in exactly seven days, and he's already freaking out. 

He curses and drops the controller at the fifth _game over_ that day, and looks up to find Jon waiting at the door with two mugs of coffee. 

"Can I-?" he says tentatively and Spencer nods and scoots over a little, giving over some of the space he's hogged. Jon drops down heavily next to him, handing him a mug, and Spencer takes a sip so he doesn't have to say anything. 

They're quiet for a very long time, staring at the intro sequence play over and over, until Jon finally shifts a little, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, mug cupped safely in his hands. 

"Sorry," he says. "I was- really drunk." 

Spencer bites his lip and nods. "Me too." He searches Jon's profile, but it's unreadable, pale and tired. 

"We're cool, right?" Jon says and tilts his head to meet Spencer's eyes, and Spencer feels his chest tighten a little, inexplicably so, and nods. 

"Yeah, of course we are."

*

It's not like Spencer thought it would be. They meet with the Academy guys at the Warped field, the sun burning down on their backs. Spencer can already feel another sunburn coming on, even though he's been so careful, and he's probably growing three freckles a minute. There's a lot of handshaking and fist-bumping, dudeing, shoulder bumping and all that.

Spencer hugs William tightly, laughing a bit, and says hello to the Butcher and Mike and Adam, grinning, bumping shoulders with Jon who's tightly holding onto Tom. 

"Hey," Tom says to Spencer or Jon, and Spencer feels his cheeks flush a bit. 

"Hey," he says back, and that's all they exchange for a while. They all fall back into their old routine, and it feels so familiar, hanging out, and it's England all over again. They have lunch in the park, hamburgers and soda and fries, and Spencer kicks his feet, talking about his new set of drums to the Butcher and how they feel way more organic. 

There is tension, he can feel it, and Bill sits away from Tom, hogging Brendon all to himself for the longest time.

*

Spencer skin is prickly where Tom's fingers touch him; his skin is flushed and Tom's breath is warm and moist against his collarbone.

"I fucking missed-" Tom breaks off and bites his skin lightly, groaning a little, and Spencer shifts against him in the confined space of his bunk, Tom's scent all around him. 

"Me too," he pants out, his chest rising and falling fast in the frantic rhythm of their mutual pulses. He digs his fingers into Tom's hair and pulls him up, kissing him hungrily, nipping at his lips. He tastes clean, like Spencer's mints, and Spencer moans a little and shifts up against him, wanting more. 

"How much time do we have?" he asks, breathless, and Tom groans loudly, tugging Spencer's lower lip between his teeth. 

"Enough time to fuck," he says, and Spencer is very much alright with that.

*

It's fast and frantic, and Tom comes so quick he slides out of Spencer and goes down on him, shoving two fingers inside him when he begs for them; Spencer comes arching off the mattress until his knees hit the wall of the bunk, face turned into the pillow to muffle his sounds.

Tom pulls away and spits into a tissue, wiping his fingers, then slides on top of him again, kissing him almost softly. Spencer frowns at the taste of his own come on Tom's tongue, but wraps his arms around him anyway. 

There's so many things he wants to ask, like whether Tom is jealous of Jon or whether Tom knows anything or what he wants. Spencer isn't even sure he wants to know the answers and he feels guilty and scared that once they start talking, he'll tell Tom everything. He just digs his fingers into Tom's hair and kisses him back instead.

*

Ryan's dad dies when they're in Vancouver. They play their show and when they get backstage, Zack is waiting for them, phone in hand. Spencer sits and holds Ryan's hand while Ryan talks on the phone to his aunt. He doesn't know what to say and Ryan is so pale Spencer thinks that he's going to pass out.

They board the bus and Jon and Brendon vanish to their bunks. Spencer feels helpless as Ryan curls up against him, eyes red. He hasn't said a word since they left the venue and Spencer knows he won't all night. Ryan's body is cold and shaking a little, and when he finally falls asleep Spencer thinks he's going to pass out from holding own his body in the same position for two hours.

But he can't move, especially now that Ryan is finally breathing calmly, limbs twitching occasionally in his sleep. He closes his eyes and lets his head drop against the backrest of the couch, trying to ignore the numbing pain in his arm. 

When he opens his eyes again, Jon is standing over him with a pillow, hand reached out in mid-movement to touch his shoulder.

"Hey," he whispers, wincing, and Jon smiles a little. 

"C'mon," he says and helps Spencer switch his shoulder under Ryan's head for the pillow, making sure he doesn't wake. He pulls Spencer to his feet by his hands, helping him up, and steadies him a little when he wobbles. 

"I made some hot chocolate," he says, "with whipped cream, and almond liquor." 

Spencer groans a little and pads after him to the kitchenette, stomach rumbling even before Jon hands him his cup. He takes a sip, falling down onto the bench, sighing at the taste. 

"God, you're fucking amazing," he says and wipes some cream off his upper lip. He can feel the hot milk and alcohol settling comfortably in his stomach and sighs again, starting to feel the tension fall off him. 

"I know, right," Jon says, sitting down next to him, their thighs pressed together, and he feels warm and safe and calm. Spencer leans against him, unable to help it, feeling pliant and tired. 

"Hey," Jon says, "hey, hey." He finishes his cocoa and leans over a little, nuzzling his nose against Spencer neck, prompting shivers that make their way up Spencer's spine. 

"Sorry," Jon says, "I already had three of these. There's a lot of booze in them actually, even if you can't taste it." His breath is warm on Spencer's cold skin, so he closes his eyes, taking another sip. 

"It's alright," he responds and doesn't pull away, just reaches up, rubbing his fingers through Jon's short hair.

*

They cancel Seattle, naturally, and San Francisco, and Spencer flies home to Vegas with Ryan to help, with what he's not exactly sure. His mom picks them up from the airport and Spencer squeezes in with the twins in the backseat, listening to them be unusually quiet, both of them leaning their heads on his shoulder.

They miss three days of the tour, which they spend mostly at Spencer's house, holed up in his room. Spencer knows that Ryan had planned to pack his father's things and find closure and all that, but Spencer also knows that Ryan can't do any of these things right now because it's just too soon. 

They fly back and play Anaheim, and Ryan doesn't cry anymore after the show until Jon pulls him into a hug where he can hide his face.

*

The tour ends in Chicago, and Spencer hasn't seen Jon this happy since they showed him how they'd changed their Myspace page. His hair has gotten long, and Spencer grins at him, caught, as he watches him during their last show.

Ryan is quiet so often that Spencer sometimes fears he's lost his voice, but Brendon will sit with him for hours when Spencer can't and talk enough for both of them, idle chatter and song ideas, his voice calm.

He calls Tom that night and tells him about Ryan and how he doesn't know what to do, but that at least he's not as afraid anymore. He tells Tom that he wants to fly out if he can, that he doesn't want to leave Ryan alone for too long, but that he'll try. When he's done, Tom is quiet for a long time, so long that Spencer is afraid one of them lost their signal or that Tom fell asleep. 

Finally Tom says, "I think, by the end of this tour, I won't be in this band anymore."

*

Spencer curls up with Ryan that night, his nose turned against his neck, breathing calmly, Ryan's fingers curling into his hair. He doesn't know why he's so upset - it's not his band, and it changes nothing - but his chest feels tight anyway.

He knows Tom called Jon not long after they talked because Jon got up when his phone rang in the kitchen and moved to the bunk section, his voice muffled through the door for a long time. Spencer presses closer against Ryan on the couch, the motor roaring beneath him, the city bright from the nightlights. 

He almost wishes he'd had more to say to Tom, something different than "Why?" and "What happened?" and "I'm so sorry."

"This sucks," he mumbles against Ryan's neck, and Ryan just pulls his arm more tightly around Spencer's shoulders.

*

Spencer's sisters seem all grown up when he returns, and his dad has two or three or ten more gray hairs. Spencer hugs his mom so tight she squeaks, and later he sleeps for approximately fifteen hours until Ryan comes crawling into his bed from the guestroom.

They fall asleep again for another couple of hours until Spencer's dog comes bounding into the room, one of Spencer's very favorite Nike shoes in his mouth, dropping it in favor of barking loudly. Spencer rolls onto his side, yawning, blinking himself awake, smacking Ryan in the side in the process. 

"Fuckin'-" he says and the rest is swallowed by PO's barks. 

They have breakfast (dinner) in the garden with Spencer's sisters talking over each other, asking for Brendon's phone number and wonderung if Jon will come visit again and _will Brendon come over, will he will he?_ And Spencer realizes how much he's actually missed them and that his baby sisters truly aren't babies anymore. 

Brendon comes over later, hair tousled, grinning ear to ear and lets Spencer's dog tackle him to the ground. 

Spencer calls Jon that night, when Ryan and Brendon are outside, talking, laughing, throwing balls into the pool for the dog to catch. Jon picks up after two or three rings, voice a little tired.

"'llo?" he mumbles and Spencer has to smile. 

"Hey," he says. "I miss your coffee."

Jon laughs softly, his voice a rumble through the satellite labyrinth in the night sky. "I miss _you_ ," he finally says, voice quiet and soft and earnest and Spencer turns his cheek against his shoulder, fingers curling delicately over the corners of his phone, heart thudding in his chest. 

"You too," he says after too long, probably, his voice cracking a little at the end. They talk about their families for a while, their pets, how Ryan is holding up and whether Brendon is taking his singing lessons seriously.

Eventually, after a few quiet moments, Spencer gathers the nerve to tentatively ask, "So. How's- how's Tom?"

Jon exhales, inhales audibly, once, twice, then replies softly, "He's alright, I guess. Considering the circumstances." Spencer can virtually feel the shrug in his voice. "It's hard," Jon finally adds and Spencer nods to himself. 

"Can I ask you something?" Jon asks quietly after a moment or two, and Spencer swallows tightly, suddenly feeling sick. 

He nods and realizes a little too late that Jon can't see him. "Yeah," he says, "go ahead."

"You and Tom," Jon starts again, and his voice sounds heavy, like it's hard for him to say this out loud. "I know that you and Tom, in England," Jon continues and Spencer closes his eyes, feeling like he wants to crawl out of his skin. "I'm not stupid," Jon goes on, voice rising into a small laugh at the end, "and I just- you guys weren't exactly discreet."

Spencer turns around when Jon stops and buries his face in his pillow, waiting for Jon to call him out or yell at him. Jon does neither of those things. He's quiet for a long moment, and then continues. 

"Are you two still-?" 

The question hangs between them for a few moments until Spencer grits his teeth and turns away from the pillow.

"I don't know," he finally replies, earnestly. "It's not- something we ever talked about." He exhales, inhales, feeling hysteric. "We never- and now." He stops again, unsure what else to say, unsure what Jon wants to hear.

Jon sighs a little, voice tired, and then says, "Alright. I just- needed to know." There's an awkward pause and Spencer rubs his eyes. 

"Sorry," he says, "sorry, I. It's all so-" 

Jon cuts him off before Spencer even has the chance to get his thoughts together. "I don't. Don't tell me," he says and Spencer feels his chest grow impossibly tight, his mouth bitter with fear and guilt.

*

Jon calls them about Brent's interview in _Spin_ and the _Rock Sound_ article. Specifically, he calls Brendon, and Brendon jogs all the way to Spencer's house because he can't get the conference call function on his phone to work.

Of course Brent had contacted them before - more specifically their agent - but. But Spencer didn't think he'd go public with it, and it makes the events more tangible and more real than Spencer is ready to deal with right now. 

"You should come here," Brendon says, sitting crosslegged on Spencer's bed, his phone set to speaker between the three of them, his head on Spencer's shoulder. "And make us coffee, because dude, I'm in serious withdrawal here."

Ryan laughs a bit and Spencer smiles at Jon's responding huff. "My flight lands Sunday, at like, four," he says. 

"Yes!" Spence says, "I'll pick you up, if I can get the car." 

Jon laughs again and suddenly the moment feels too intimate to be shared with Ryan or Brendon, and Spencer ducks his head and doesn't say any more until Jon has to go feed his cat and start packing and do the laundry and dishes and whatnot.

*

Spencer dreams about Tom the night before Jon lands in Vegas. It's not a particularly unsettling dream, nor one that appears to carry a lot of meaning; it's jumbled and mixed up, flashes of memory and the summer tour, and Tom's voiced mashed in, talking about one thing or another. Spencer still wakes sweaty and with his heart racing. He takes a moment to remember what he dreamed. He's puzzled when he does, at the way his heart is beating as if he'd run a mile.

He checks his phone in hopes of a text or a call he'd missed, the dream a subconscious, mythical sign, but there's nothing. He's got a text from Ryan, a call from his mother, but no message from Tom. 

He rolls out of bed, cranky, and has breakfast in the garden with Ryan, who seems equally disgruntled, eyes tired, face pale; Spencer can tell he didn't get much sleep last night. 

"I dreamed about Tom," Spencer says between bites of his bagel, eyes fixed on PO, bounding through the garden. "It was weird." 

"Hrm," Ryan replies. He's quiet for another few moments, the time it takes him to finish his eggs, and then tilts his head questioningly. "Did he like- Have you heard from him lately?" 

"Nope," Spencer says. He tries to make it sound nonchalant, as if he doesn't care, but it comes out bitter, sarcastic. 

Ryan's face grows a little hard for a split second, before he reaches for his coffee, taking a large sip. "That's just weird, Spence," he finally says. "Didn't you guys- Aren't you-" He stops, seems to give up entirely, and Spencer shakes his head, feeling defeated.

"No, we never- It was never like that," he eventually concedes. Saying it out loud again makes his chest hurt a little more than before, and he reaches for a piece of bacon, taking a bite to distract himself. 

"But you miss him." Ryan is still looking at him, matter of fact, and Spencer shrugs, then nods. 

"Well, yeah," he says, and then Ryan nudges his thigh with his toe, smiling a little, comforting.

*

Jon's flight is early and he's already waiting for Spencer, sitting crosslegged on a bench, eyes closed and earphones plugged in. Spencer slows down a little when he sees him, stuffing the keys of his car into his pocket, hands following, his shoulders hunching as he closes the distance between them. It feels awkward and Spencer doesn't know what to do and what to feel, and he wishes he'd prepared himself better for this situation, knowing it'd come.

He stops right in front of Jon and lightly kicks his shin, smiling down at him when Jon opens his eyes and looks up. 

"Hey," he says and repeats himself when Jon reaches up and removes his earbuds, face softening when he recognizes Spencer. 

"Hi," he says with a grin, getting up, and pulling Spencer into such an easy, open hug, that it's hard not to reciprocate, so Spencer does. He takes Jon's oversized suitcase and Jon shoulders his guitar and his bass and his duffel bag. They're quiet for a moment or two as they walk to the car.

"You're well prepared, dude," Spencer says, joking, bumping his shoulder against Jon's, and Jon laughs and suddenly things are not so complicated anymore.

*

They fly to Germany five days later and play High Field to a crowd that, surprisingly, knows them, then Belgium and the Netherlands. Spencer realizes that central Europe is nothing like he thought it'd be. The people are nice, somewhat strange, and they talk in hard languages that Spencer has troubles recognizing.

Then comes Reading, four days into the UK arm of their mini tour. Spencer stumbles away from his drums when Brendon goes down, hands shaking a little, and he can't do anything but stand there and stare as Zack and the tech guy make sure he's okay. 

They sit around him afterward, the paramedics bustling around them, taking Brendon's temperatures and shining a light into his eyes to check his pupils. Brendon's already talking again, words bubbling from him, telling them not to worry, telling them that he's fine, but Spencer knows better than to just believe him, because Brendon won't tell you if he's really not okay.

As it turns out, Brendon isn't - save for a very minor concussion - majorly hurt. He spends the rest of the day on the bus and for once Spencer's not snappy when Brendon demands chocolate and marshmallows and tea, but scurries around along with the others to get him what he needs. 

He emails Tom that night, complains about what assholes people are, tells him about Germany and Belgium, and that he misses him, and that England felt weird without him. He tells him about the kids in the Netherlands and that they'll be home in Vegas for his and Ryan's birthday party. It's oddly like writing a diary, since Spencer doesn't expect a reply anymore.

*

They go to New York after a day with their families, but at least they're in a hotel, and don't have to be anywhere for the next few days; it's New York and Spencer finds himself a little overwhelmed. They go sightseeing and touring, and shopping and Spencer buys six pairs of shoes. People recognize them in the streets and in stores, at Starbucks and the theater.

They celebrate Ryan's birthday in their hotel room, with cupcakes and hot chocolate, knowing that whatever happens the next day, there will be enough to drink and party for at the VMAs the next day.

*

It's a blur, in Spencer's head. It's all a blur and he can't even remember how they got on stage or everything else after. Brendon feels so tiny when they hug and Spencer is maybe shaking a little when they're up there, holding their awards.

Pete has booked a suite for them, a giant suite with a bowling alley and everyone is there, everyone is there except for Tom. Spencer swallows down his bitter feelings and reaches for a JD & Coke, and then another, until his head feels a little dizzy. Ryan's off somewhere, talking to the pretty background dancer he met backstage, and Spencer wanders around the suite until Pete climbs onto a table and announces Ryan and Spencer to be his very favorite birthday boys. 

Spencer laughs and hides behind Travis' broad back. William sneaks up behind him and they tumble down on the couch, laughing, bumping against Jon, and Spencer spills his drink, giggling, hiding his face against Jon's neck. 

"Oh dude," Bill says, "dude you are so, so drunk."

"Yeah," Spencer says, "but I spilled my drink. And it's my birthday in, like, two days, so I'm motherfucking allowed."

William laughs and Jon leans over and pokes his shoulder. "We also just won the MTV Video Awards, or something, seriously." His breath smells like beer, but familiar and warm, and Spencer turns his body against him, pressing closer.

"C'mon," Jon says and pulls them both up, holding Spencer by his hips, "I'll make you another drink."

"But it has to be awesome," Spencer replies, stumbling after Jon to the bar. They have shots in the corner where nobody is standing and when a little bit of lemon juice makes its way down Jon's lip, Spencer leans in and licks it away, his head dizzy, mouth burning from the sharp liquor. Jon turns his head a little, fingers easily sliding into Spencer's hair before Spencer even notices what he's doing and pulls away, laughing, shaking his head, quickly pouring more wine into his glass and taking a sip, pretending nothing happened. 

"This is unreal," Jon says, eyes fixed on a point right above Spencer's head, lips red. "This is so fucking _surreal_."

"Yeah," Spencer says; he hopes Jon is referring to the awards, to this night, to New York City. "Yeah, fucking surreal," he repeats and empties his glass.

Jon reaches up and over, pushes his hand into Spencer's hair, nearly gripping, barely tugging. "I like it," he says. "You look so fuzzy. You look like a kitten." 

Spence snorts and turns his head away, not quite shaking off Jon's hand. "I need some fresh air," he says. They stumble outside into the brightly lit corridor and while Jon fumbles for his key card, mumbling something about a balcony in their room, Spencer grabs his collar and hustles him against the wall, kissing him hard. 

It's maybe a second or two until it appears to register with Jon, until his hands slide around Spencer's back, holding him close, until Jon's lips soften and he kisses back. Jon takes command of the kiss, gasping for breath before turning them over and pressing Spencer against the purple Hilton concrete. 

His face is scruffy and it rubs over Spencer's cheek, making him gasp when Jon turns to nuzzle at his neck, sucking until Spencer can feel his skin blossom, his fingers digging into Jon's back. He turns his head again and bites at his lips, moaning softly, inviting, until Jon responds hungrily. 

A door down the hall, and Spencer jumps, hitting his head against the wall, heart racing. 

"Shit, shit," Jon mumbles and tries to pull away, the apology he's about to say tangible, until Spencer grabs his hand and pulls him down the hallway. 

"C'mon," he says, "you wanted. Balcony. Our room."

He turns around as he walks to make sure Jon is following, his heart racing fast and hard in his chest, pumping adrenaline through his body, blood rushing in his ears. He can't think. He can't think when Jon fumbles their door open, his pupils dilated, shirt ruffled, and he can't think when it falls shut behind them again, when Jon greedily tugs him close again. 

They kiss, pulling and tearing at each other's clothes until Spencer manages to get Jon's stupid blazer and shirt off, pushing them backwards to the bed, toeing off his shoes in the process. 

Jon makes a happy noise when Spencer slides his hands down his chest, hands immediately framing his hips, squeezing softly. He leans down again, kissing at his lips and Spencer arches up, skin prickly where Jon touches him. 

He reaches down and grabs Jon's belt, pulling him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed, grinning at him, heart racing; his mind is blank, and there's no sound between them but their rapid breathing, the rustle of clothes. 

Jon bumps into him, grinning, and doesn't stop their fall, pulling him down onto the bed, their legs entwining. Spencer rocks up, moaning softly, cock hard in his pants, nearly painfully so. He sits them up and tugs and pulls at Jon's belt unsuccessfully until Jon bats his hands away, laughing a little, opening his fly himself, then making quick work of Spencer's. 

"These outfits," he says, shaking his head, grinning. 

"Ryan's a fucking cockblock," Spence replies and dips his hand into Jon pants, fingers curling around his cock and pulling it out as he watches Jon's face. Jon gasps, moaning a little and pushes himself up, sitting back on his heels, pulling Spencer's pants and underwear down his hips. Spencer arches up instinctively, gasping a little, flushing hotly over his cheeks and down his neck. When Jon's hands slide up his thighs, Spencer's cock twitches against his stomach. 

Jon meets his eyes for a moment, lips curled into a tiny smirk, and then leans down, hand around Spencer's cock, mouth sliding over the tip. He bobs his head up and down a few times until Spencer can't feel his toes anymore, and he's crying out, eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

Jon makes an encouraging noise that Spencer can't resist and sucks him a little harder, urging his hips up until Spencer follows the movement, riding up into his mouth, finding a rhythm.

"Oh- oh god," he breathes out, voice high and tight. "Don't- don't make me come yet-" 

Jon chuckles around his cock, humming, speeding up despite Spencer's words, lips hot and tight around him until Spencer digs his fingers into Jon's hair and tilts his hips away, breathing hard. 

"Not yet-" He sits up and presses his lips to Jon's red, wet mouth, moaning a little at the taste and louder when Jon grabs his shoulders and pushes him back down into the pillows. He doesn't kiss like Tom, it's softer and less forceful, but his stubble feels like him, and Spencer arches up more, his breath caught tightly in his throat.

He rolls them over and straddles Jon, grinning against his lips, laughing when Jon's hands accidentally brush his sides, tickling softly. He leans down and kisses over his neck and collarbone, down his chest, and Jon groans and arches up, pushing his hands into Spencer's hair, guiding him down.

Spencer complies; this is something he knows, something he's good at. He grabs the waistband of Jon's jeans and pulls them down, taking his underwear with them, leaning down to swipe his tongue over Jon's cock, catching the gathered precome. 

Jon curses loudly, obscenely, and grabs Spencer's hair harder, pulling and tugging, sending shivers of anticipation down Spencer's back. 

"C'mon," he says, "fucking- do it-" He exhales harshly when Spencer curls over a little, stomach curving, and lets Jon push between his lips, sucking him in. Spencer makes an appreciative sound and closes his eyes, bobbing his head a few times until his lips slide more easily, until Jon starts bucking up into his mouth, stomach tight under Spencer's fingers. 

Spencer moans a little, relaxing his jaw, breathing rapidly through his nose. 

"Fuck, yeah, yeah," Jon grits out and Spencer pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, earning a frustrated whine. 

"I wanna fuck," he says, crawling up Jon's body and pressing their lips together. Jon's hands slide up his arms and down his back to his ass, squeezing a little and Spencer groans into the kiss, rocking down. 

"Yeah?" Jon says, grinning into the kiss, pulling him down again, his cock sliding between Spencer's cheeks, rubbing, making him shiver in anticipation. 

"Ever fucked a guy?" Spence asks and nips at Jon's lower lip, teasingly. 

"I just sucked your cock, what do you think?" Jon grips his hips and rolls them over, sitting back on his heels, pushing Spencer's legs up by his knees. Spencer shifts, moaning a little, parting his legs easily, the alcohol making him bolder, dick hard and leaking against his stomach. 

"I wanna lick you," Jon says as if he's asking for permission, but his hands are already at Spencer's hips, tilting them up, making him shift; he leans down and swipes his tongue over the sensitive stretch of skin behind Spencer's balls and then lower. Spencer whines loudly, face flushing hotly at the sensation. 

"You like that?" Jon asks wetly against his skin, then moves his tongue deeper until Spencer moans loudly, shifting up. Jon pushes a finger inside, sliding easily, moving it a little, going so slow that Spencer can feel his toes curl. 

"I'm not- ah-" He exhales, losing his voice for a moment when Jon licks around his fingers, sucking his skin lightly. 

"What?" Jon pulls away, grinning when Spencer opens his eyes to look at him. 

"Come on," Spence says, rocking up, "fuck me." But Jon removes his fingers and leans down again, spreading his cheeks, tongue pushing in, hot and wet and soft and Spencer cries out, nearly coming, the sensation so odd and so incredibly arousing he can feel shivers running up his legs. 

"Please," he says despite himself, voice tight, "please, please, _Jon_ -" 

"Need lube," Jon mumbles, sliding his mouth away, trailing it up the inside of Spencer's thigh, his breath hot. "'m not gonna fuck you without-" 

Spence groans in frustration and rolls over onto his stomach, thighs twitching, and digs his hands into his backpack, rummaging until he finds the lube. He hands it to Jon and moves to turn over again, but Jon's hands slide over the small of his back and his ass, squeezing. 

"Stay like that," he says, and Spencer groans a little at the thought, pulling his knees up and apart, pressing his upper body down. He gets rewarded with a low groan and a slick finger pushing in, then a second, moving, scissoring until he's exhaling each breath with a tiny whimper, rocking back against Jon's fingers, fucking himself against them, needing more. 

Jon adds a third, and Spencer moans loudly, panting against his arm, skin tingling. 

"Fuck me- now-," he moans out and Jon slaps his right cheek softly, removing his fingers. He aligns a moment later, grunting and groaning and Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, holding his breath while Jon pushes in, shifting his hips back against him to make it easier. 

"God, fuck, you're so tight," Jon breathes out, gripping Spencer's hips and Spencer can't do anything but make an unintelligible noise, his nipples hard, his cock twitching, and he's aching to feel the familiar jolt of the first thrust. He can hear Jon inhaling, exhaling, once, twice, and then he pulls out and shoves back in, fingers digging into Spencer's skin. Spencer pants out a low sound, throaty, hoarse, and turns his face into the pillow, muffling his growing noises. 

Jon sets a steady rhythm, hard and determined, fast, but not uncontrolled, his voice deep and gruff with lust; Spencer tries to keep up, but it's too much, too good, and Jon is holding him so tightly, leaving bruises on his hips. 

"Oh god," Spencer pants out, and again, nearly embarrassed, each of Jon's thrusts pushing another whimper from him, Jon's cock rubbing inside him, making his body feel tight and hot, compressed. 

"Yeah, fuck," Jon grunts in response and speeds up a little, pace growing sloppy for a second before he catches himself again, pressing closer, his chest to Spencer's back, mouth moving along Spencer's nape, over his shoulder, making him shiver. 

He can feel his cock leaking, twitching as Jon brushes over that spot inside him before losing the angle. 

"Do that again," he begs and tilts his hips up and Jon seems to get it, because he bends over more, changing the angle, arms going around Spencer's chest, his cheek pressed to Spencer's back, stubble rubbing over his skin. 

"Oh god, oh fuck-" Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and comes, rocking himself onto Jon's dick again and again, spurting hotly over his own stomach and the duvet, crying out. His body grows taut for a moment and Jon exhales a low moan, his hips stuttering before speeding up again, moving harder, driving into Spencer's body as Spencer comes down a little, moaning softly, feeling sensitive. 

Jon pulls away from his body, hands going to Spencer's ass, parting his cheeks and Spencer reaches out to hold himself against the headboard, tightening his muscles around Jon's dick, whimpering. 

"Oh-" Jon moans out, then louder, and Spencer feels him come, still moving fast, half inside Spencer, spurting between his cheeks and dripping down his thighs. Jon finally slows down, and Spencer feels his thighs starting to shake a little, with the effort to hold himself up.

He collapses and Jon follows suit, nuzzling against his neck, body heavy and warm on top of Spencer's. Spencer groans a little and shifts, stretching his legs and arms away from himself. Jon slides off after a moment, kissing his shoulder, and turns him over, pulling him close, his arms around Spencer's waist. 

"Damn," he mumbles against Spencer's neck, kissing the skin there softly.

Spencer hrms sleepily, nodding. He nuzzles closer to Jon, eyes falling shut. He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this is not a good idea, but his body feels warm and sated and Jon is rubbing over his belly, softly massaging. 

"You gonna fall asleep?" Jon asks and Spencer hmms, drifting off.

*

This time, Spencer thinks, he can't not tell Ryan, because this wasn't a drunk kiss or friendly nuzzling or anything silly like that.

They fly back to Vegas a day later, Jon taking a flight to Chicago instead. He hugs Spencer so tight at the airport that Spencer almost loses his breath. Spencer hugs him back, body melting against Jon's a little. 

He'd expected it to be awkward the next morning, weird, but instead it was just. They were just. Like always, he thinks, they were like always, shoulders bumping and easy smiles and OC jokes. He didn't know it could be like this, and it's strange and unfamiliar. 

They get on their plane and Spencer can't sit still through the flight, shifting and turning and reading, unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes. He curls up, watches the movie playing on the screens, but can't focus. There's too much in his head, and Ryan gives him a look, brows raised, knowing. 

Later, Spencer tells himself not to feel guilty because Tom didn't even call, didn't even text. He spends the rest of the day holed up in his room watching movies with Shane and Brendon, phone in his lap. 

It's not his fault, he repeats to himself, because Tom didn't call. And it's not going to happen again, anyway.

*

Spencer tells Ryan that night when they're watching TV in Spencer's room at the break of dawn, awake after fifteen hours of sleep.

"In New York," he says, "I slept with Jon." 

Ryan looks up, head tilted, then shrugs. "I know," he says, "I'm not stupid. I saw you two leave. And I saw you two at the airport."

Spencer blinks and sits up a little, confused. "Why- why didn't you say anything?" he asks, looking down, embarrassed.

"Dude," Ryan says, his tone a little softer. "Because. When should I have? I don't think you, uh, you and Jon discussed how you were gonna disclose it to anyone, or if you would at all."

Spencer shakes his head. "No," he admits quietly and shrugs a little. "I don't even," he starts and lets out a sigh, at a loss for words. "I don't even know what it means," he says, finding Ryan's eyes, helpless. "Like, to Jon, you know?"

"Well," Ryan says quietly, eyes flicking to a spot over Spencer's head for a moment, "it obviously means _something_ to Jon."

Spencer stays silent after that; he twists their blanket between his fingers, the TV rambling away mindlessly, and thinks about the way Jon looked at him at the airport.

*

Pete sends them copies of all the European magazines they were featured in and Spencer can't even- he can't even comprehend this all. He remembers not quite six months ago, how nobody knew them, remembers the kids shouting for William until Spencer hit his drums so hard he drowned out their voices.

"This is so insane," Ryan says, shaking his head, leafing through a Belgian magazine, an interview Spencer can't even remember properly. 

"Seriously," Brendon chimes in, chewing on a licorice stick, brows furrowed, trying to read a French interview. "I think they're saying here that you blew me, Ross." He looks up, grinning, and Ryan rolls his eyes and kicks his shin.

*

He nearly texts Tom one night; but he doesn't know what to say. He knows that Tom might not even reply, but he's afraid that if he does that he, Spencer, will not be able to hold back the truth. It's best, he decides, if he doesn't.

*

They fly back to New York two weeks later and meet Jon at the studio booked to give them a little time to rehearse and readjust. Ryan is excited and nervous, when the pretty blonde from the VMAs comes to visit them in the afternoon, carrying bags of donuts and sandwiches and coffee.

She's tiny, Spencer thinks, realizing that he's probably grown a bit. Ryan is all over the place, grinning and jittery, and Spencer has to smile a little. When Ryan runs off to the bathroom, presumably to fix his hair, Spencer finds out her name is Keltie, and that she's Canadian. She hadn't heard of their band before she danced for them at the VMAs and Bob Dylan is her favorite musician. Spencer decides that he likes her. 

They play their show the next day and watch movies afterwards, and Spencer feels a little like a loser, but a lot happy. He falls asleep in his clothes and wakes to Jon softly shaking his shoulder to wake him, eyes soft, speaking quietly about shoes to be taken off and pajamas yet to be put on. 

Spencer complies grumpily, padding off into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and when he comes back, Jon is already asleep, curled up around his blanket; Spencer tilts his head a little, remembering three weeks ago to look on Jon's face as Spencer watched him wake.

*

Tom calls a few days before they leave for New Zealand and Spencer nearly falls over his feet in his hurry to get outside, away from Ryan and Brendon and Jon and Shane, all playing Halo and drinking beer from Spencer's dad's fridge. He closes the glass doors behind him and sits by the pool, feet dangling into the cool water.

"Hey," he says, "alone now."

"Yeah?" Tom sounds better, good, even. "Good day?"

Spencer hums. He closes his eyes and imagines Tom's sitting next to him, imagines he can feel his stubble, smell his aftershave mixed with cigarette smoke and Fruit Loops. "Yeah," he says eventually, "pretty good. We're going to New Zealand in three days, and then we're doing Europe again." He pauses, listens to Tom listen to him. 

"I have a new project, I think," Tom says contemplatively. "With some old friends and stuff."

"Yeah?" Spencer tilts his head, squinting his eyes shut against the sunshine. "What kind?"

"Can't tell." There's a smile in his voice, though, and Spencer hangs his head, heart aching a little. "But-" Tom hesitates, then continues. "But if you come here, I can show you?" 

Spencer closes his eyes, fingers curling around his knee as as if his grip is the only thing keeping him from being swept away by the tugging feeling inside himself, by the sudden need to tell Tom what happened in New York. "What's today?" he asks. "Thursday, we're flying Sunday. I can't- I can't, but you could?" He doesn't want to sound half as hopeful as he does, but he can't help it. He misses Tom's skin and his bitching and how he's not capable of making his own tea so Spencer has to make it for him. 

"Flights are like, way over my budget right now, Spence," Tom says. "You'll be back in a month, right?"

Spencer nods. "Yeah, October 29th, then we're doing another US tour." He closes his eyes, heart rate speeding up as he thinks about the upcoming days on tour, and he's excited and nervous all of a sudden.

"I heard you're taking circus animals on tour with you?" 

Spencer laughs and shakes his head. "No, no, just the dancers and stuff that were with us during the summer. There'll just be of them." 

Tom snorts a little and laughs, too. "Pete said something about circus and animals and stuff."

"Yeah, well," Spence says, "you should've learned by now that you can't believe anything Pete Wentz says."

"So when?" Tom asks and Spencer takes a moment to realize what he means. 

"In a month? You think you can wait?" He laughs a little, flushing, heart racing for a different reason now. 

Tom hums, uncharacteristically quiet. "Yeah," he says, "yeah."

*

It's nothing, Spencer decides, not like he and Tom are something, and he and Jon don't even talk about it or mention it until the second Melbourne show, where they're celebrating the end of their Australian leg of the tour in the parking lot of the venue, wrapped in thick coats. The change of seasons is strange for Spencer, his body feeling unadjusted and wrong.

Spencer is not quite as drunk as in New York, not even close, but Jon is definitely getting there; he comes over to where Spence is huddled up with Ryan, discussing Keltie's most recent texts, and sits next to him, arm curling around Spencer's waist easily.

"Hey," Jon mumbles, apparently disregarding Ryan's raised eyebrows, and presses his nose against Spencer's neck. Spencer doesn't pull away, meeting Ryan's eyes for a moment, feeling uncomfortable; Ryan tilts his head as if to say _deal with it now_ , and gets up, texting, brows furrowed. Spencer shrugs a little, indicating for Ryan to leave and turns, pushing at Jon's shoulder, making him sit up. 

"Jon," he says, and again, "Jon," until Jon's eyes snap back up, unfocused, meeting his finally. 

"What're you doing?" he asks, stomach feeling tight. His skin is tingly where Jon touched him, and he aches for more, for something, for anything. 

"Dunno," Jon says and meets his eyes, confusion riding in his gaze. "I really don't know-"

"What happened to us?" Spencer suddenly says; he's getting scared, scared that he's putting the band in danger, that he's ruining the friendships he's built. 

Jon shrugs a little, his body warm. "New York did, I guess." 

Spence hesitates for a moment, remembering Tom's call. "I didn't think- I thought it was just-"

Jon smiles sadly for a moment, then shakes his head. "Yeah, no, it wasn't." He stops again, leaning back against the wall, balancing his beer on his knee, holding it steadily with two fingers, equilibrium.

*

After an outback tour that includes koalas and a shopping spree, they're back in Europe. Spencer sleeps through most of the flight, exhausted and worn out already, and then sleeps more at their hotel in Copenhagen until he wakes in the middle of the night.

It's a little cold, and Ryan is curled up around his pillow on the other bed; Spencer turns onto his side, blinking, too awake to go back to sleep. He fishes for his Sidekick on the floor until he finds it, then pulls up a new message. 

_wide awake and sleepless in CH, sweden_ , he types and sends it off to Tom. He sighs and closes his eyes, then jolts a little when his phone vibrates only a few minutes later. 

Tom's text reads _im a little sleepless here too. just finished writing a song ill play it to you when you get home_. 

Spencer smiles, chest growing a little warm. _ok_ , he texts back. _i miss you_ , he adds after a moment and then hits send. 

_ditto_ is the reply a second later, and Spencer bites his lip, grinning and hiding his face in his pillow.

*

They have two weeks in Europe - east to west to north - and it's crazier than the last time, signs and screaming girls and interview after interview.

They get stoned in Amsterdam, naturally, and it leaves Spencer and Ryan curled up in their bunks, nose to nose, telling tiny secrets from this summer. 

"I think I might be in love," Ryan says, grinning stupidly, and Spencer laughs and shakes his head, poking Ryan's tummy. 

"Keltie?"

Ryan hums and closes his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I'll see her again in-" He raises his hand, counting down on his fingers, then stops, breaking into another breathless giggle. "-in soon I hope. Can she join us on tour, Spence? Like, for a few days?"

Spence smiles a little, nodding. "Sure, why not." He closes his eyes, thinking. 

"You're in love," Ryan says after a moment, voice flat at the end and Spencer takes a moment to figure out whether it's a question or not. 

He shrugs, cheeks growing hot, but he feels honest and open. "Maybe," he says and nudges his nose against Ryan's. "I dunno. I miss him, I do. 

"Yeah?" Ryan nudges back playfully, and then after a beat asks, "And Jon?" 

Spencer is quiet for a moment, then shakes his head, not sure what to say; he nuzzles against Ryan's neck, effectively avoiding the question, and wrestles him down until Ryan kicks his knee and calls for a fight.

*

At least people mostly speak their language in England, Spencer thinks after their second show in London while backstage, his hair wet and cheeks red from the shower. His body is still thrumming from the stage, adrenaline pumping and ears ringing, and he sprawls back against the arm of the ouch where Jon is perched, texting. He stops for a moment, raising his arm a little to make space for Spencer's head, fingers finding his hair and threading softly, still distracted.

Ryan and Brendon are laughing and rehearsing a scene they thought of for the new tour, giggling as they run towards each other and break apart, reciting ridiculous lines that make Spencer snort and shake his head and break out laughing. 

"They're crazy," Spencer says softly, turning his head up, meeting Jon's eyes. 

"Ha, yeah," Jon says, shaking his head, closing his phone for a moment. "You know," he adds after a moment, "this tour will be amazing."

Spencer hums in agreement, his heart racing a little, and nudges his head against Jon.

*

"I love France," Ryan says as they sit by the Seine, eating chunks from baguettes and drinking wine straight from the bottle without people giving them strange looks. He has his pants rolled up despite the cold weather because Jon dared him to stick his foot in the river.

"Yeah," Brendon says, chewing his cheese happily. His hair is everywhere, getting long again, just like Spencer's. 

"So," Ryan says after a moment, taking a sip of wine, "I'd really like to invite this girl on tour for a few days."

"Yeah?" Jon says, grinning, and nudges him a little. "That pretty blonde from New York?"

Ryan nods, and shrugs a little, looking away. Spencer nudges him. "Yeah," he says finally. "Is that cool?"

"Sure," Brendon says, finishing his cheese. "'s cool with me. Shane's coming too, did I say that? Saying it now, Shane's coming also." He grins and shrugs a bit. 

"Awesome," Ryan says and his face splits into a grin, feet swinging a little. "It's only for like, three or four days since she has to go back to New York for a job."

"So it's okay if Shane comes?" Brendon turns to Jon and Spencer, but Jon talks over him, eyes flicking to Spencer for a moment. 

"Since we're on the topic- I invited Tom on tour with us-" He stops, smiling and shrugging. "He's gonna take pictures and stuff."

Spencer blinks, surprised, stomach twisting nervously for a moment, full of excitement and anxiety, and takes a bit of his cheese. "If everyone is bringing someone," he says, tone casual, "then I'll like, invite my sisters."

Ryan laughs, shaking his head, and Brendon raises his arms in a praying gesture, shaking his head and making pleading eyes at Spencer, mouthing _no_ s. 

Spencer smiles wryly, shrugging, eyes flicking over Jon's face.

*

They kiss again after their last show in France, back at the hotel, curled up and watching TV. Ryan is off somewhere, he vanished after his phone rang, and Brendon is asleep, breathing softly under his blanket.

Spencer laughs at a slapstick sketch on TV and looks over at Jon. Jon suddenly leans in and presses their mouths together, making Spencer's breath hitch. It's soft and sweet, more of a peck than a kiss, just their lips pressed together tenderly until Spencer pulls back, shaking his head, trying not to think. 

Jon nuzzles against his neck, hands rubbing over Spencer's stomach, whispering, "I missed your skin."

Spencer doesn't want him to keep talking so he kisses him again, nipping softly. He pulls away again after a moment, chest tight. 

Jon seems to contemplate his next words, watching Spencer closely before he speaks. "Is it- really okay? That Tom is coming on tour with us?" He stops for a moment, then continues. "I just want him to take his mind off things while- while Bill and the others are recording." 

Spence opens and closes his mouth, unsure what to say, and then shakes his head. "Yeah, why wouldn't it be okay?" 

Jon shrugs. "Don't know. Just thought since you guys used to-" He stops and looks away, letting the phrase hang in the air for a moment. 

Spencer is quiet. He doesn't know what to say - he remembers Tom calling him and their texts and everything, and still he can't say it, can't tell Jon about him and Tom. Jon's hand slides from his shoulder and into his hair, rubbing softly. Spencer feels so tense he thinks his back might snap.

*

Tom joins them on tour in Atlanta, carrying his acoustic guitar, his photo equipment and a duffel bag; he looks good, calmer, and when he finds his way backstage after the show, Spencer gets up from where he's sitting, his heart racing.

"That was a pretty gay show, dude," Tom says to Ryan as a greeting and shakes his head. "And by gay I mean fucking awesome, obviously," Tom continues, fist-bumps with Brendon and gives Ryan a hug. 

"Jon's in the shower," Brendon says, taking a sip of Redbull, and Tom nods, turning a little, facing Spencer. 

"Hey," Spencer says, and Ryan turns away, suddenly terribly interested in showing Brendon something on his phone. Tom smiles a little, dropping his bag, eyes flicking over Spencer's face. 

"Hey," he says back and steps closer, tugging on Spencer's shirt until Spencer closes the distance between them; he tiptoes and kisses Tom, earning a surprised gasp. Tom's hands go around his waist, squeezing, holding. 

It doesn't last long, but it's enough to make Spencer's cheeks flush and his chest swell, to make him grip Tom's shirt, holding on. He breaks away, shrugging a little, smiling nearly sheepishly. Tom asks for a drink and his hand brushes over the small of Spencer's back when he walks over to say hello to Jon, who's stepped out of the shower.

*

"You need to stop," Ryan says in Washington, while he gets ready to pick up Keltie from her hotel and take her to a baseball game or something.

"What," Spencer says and finishes his coffee, brows furrowed. 

"You need to tell Jon," Ryan says sternly. He's fussing with his hair and Spencer fakes interest in Ryan's actions for a moment, thinking, not sure what to say. 

"Seriously," Ryan says, his face growing a little sad. "It's not- it's not fair. To either. To both." He shrugs and grabs his bag. 

"I know," Spencer says quietly. He suddenly feels like the worst person in the world for avoiding Tom's touches when Jon is around and pretending that they still have to hide. 

"You can't-" Ryan waves his hand. "You can't keep something like this a secret forever. And you know- Jon will tell Tom eventually." 

"Yeah," Spence says. "I know." He looks away and hides his face in his hands for a moment, scared, his stomach twisting. "It's hard," he finally says, and Ryan sits down again, wrapping his arms around Spencer's shoulders, just holding on.

*

Tom sneaks into his bunk almost every night, and Spencer curls against him, breathing calmly, softly. Ryan is right, he thinks in New York. Maybe he needs to stop being a coward.

They all sit together in the bus lounge the next night, talking and playing card games, horror films running on TV in the background. Tom and Jon are joking and laughing while Spencer watches them, contemplating, considering. He wants to sit next to Tom, just like Keltie and Ryan are sitting together, and he wants to not feel guilty anymore. 

Jon looks up and meets his eyes, smiling a little, then throws a marshmallow at him, laughing.

*

Ryan gets a girlfriend, and Spencer finds solace in a milkshake. Tom is somewhere in the venue, taking pictures, texting Spence occasionally, and Spencer assumes that Jon's with him. To his surprise, he finds Jon lying outside on the green lawn space by the parking lot, reading.

Spencer watches him for a moment and nearly passes by until Jon raises his sunglasses and waves him over. Spencer's legs carry him automatically. He sits down crosslegged, his drink perched on his knee. Jon rolls over, folding his book shut and sits up a bit, stretching. 

"Nearly fell asleep," he says. "It's so warm for October." 

Spencer nods, smiling. "Yeah, milkshake weather."

"Hey," Jon says, "hey let me have a sip." He leans down and sucks on the straw before Spencer can react, his hand on Spencer's thigh as he holds himself up. 

"Are you-" Spencer starts, swallowing tightly, hesitating, looking down for a moment when Jon sits back up. "Jon, are you- in love with me?" 

He blushes hard, embarrassed at having to ask, about this conversation and the situation. Jon is quiet for a moment, then turns his head, staring on ahead for a few moments, his breathing calm. 

Spencer bites his lip, fingers curling around his cup, waiting, toes tingly with tension. Jon's shoulders sag a little before straightening again, and he laughs a bit, voice dry. 

"Isn't it obvious?" he says and turns to look at Spencer, face soft. 

"Sorry," Spencer says and looks away; he feels a little sick and he's trying to tell himself it's because this is his third milkshake and that's just too much, but he knows that's not it. "I'm sorry."

Jon shakes his head and snatches away his milkshake, taking a sip. "No, don't be-" He breaks off, face growing sad for a moment and Spencer reaches out to touch him, but stops himself, not sure if that's the right thing to do. 

Jon finishes Spencer's milkshake, then sets the cup down in the grass gingerly, arching his back as he sits up straight. His gaze falls to his hands for a moment and Spencer follows it, gnawing on his lower lip, heart racing. He can feel the words building inside him, bubbling over, until he can feel them start to spill over. 

"I just- just-" He stops again, voice shaking. "Tom and I- we're- I need to tell you-" 

Jon snorts a little, almost sarcastically, but he reaches out and touches Spencer's thigh softly. "I'm not blind or stupid," he says. He shakes his head and then pulls his hand away, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere behind Spencer's head, not looking at him. 

"I'm sorry," Spencer says again, not sure what else to say. "I'm an asshole, I'm so sorry-" 

Jon rubs his face for a moment, turning away. "Stop saying that- just-" He shrugs and Spencer stops himself from apologizing again, choking on his words. "Why didn't you just tell me? After New York?" 

Spencer bites his lip and looks away, hands shaking a little. "I was so scared." 

Jon is quiet after that, thinking, fingers curled around his book as if he needs something to hold on to. Spencer stays for a while, waiting for Jon to say something. When he doesn't, Spencer gets up, stumbling back to the bus, heart racing and hands still shaking.

*

Jon and Tom talk that night in quiet, hushed voices in the bus lounge, long after midnight; Spencer is curled up in his bunk, trying to pretend he can't hear them, trying to pretend he's not interested.

Jon was no different before the show, after their talk. He was laughing and joking as if nothing had ever happened and Spencer isn't so sure anymore whether what he did was the right thing to do, or the right way to do it. 

He closes his eyes and presses his ear deeper into his pillow, but he can still hear their voices penetrating through the thin door from the next room. Spencer's not sure if he wants to know what they're talking about; he isn't sure if he's more scared of the what they're saying or of what might happen. 

Tom comes sneaking into the bunk area a moment later, climbing into Spencer's bunk, stretching out behind him, kissing his shoulder. He wants to wants ask if Jon told him, about New York and whatever else happened, but Tom's soft kisses along his collarbone, tender, make the inquiry superfluous. He tries to relax, tries not to think of everything that's happened in the past months, heart racing, guilt rushing through him.

*

They have a day off in Toronto, which Keltie and Ryan spend running around and sending Spencer silly picture messages and texts. He spends the day in the hotel gardens, reading and listening to music, trying to straighten out his thoughts.

Jon made coffee for them in the morning on the bus, right before they got to Toronto, and he added cinnamon to Spencer's, just the way he likes it. He'd smiled and greeted Spencer when he came stumbling from his bunk, hair a mess, Tom on his heels. Spencer felt weird sitting between them, drinking his coffee, while the others were sleeping, the morning young and new through the spotty windows. 

Tom finds him in the gardens as he's taking a few camera shots. Spencer notices him and raises his book to hide his face, nose scrunching up teasingly. He tugs his headphones from his ears and smiles against the sun, squinting, as Tom walks towards him and sits. 

"Hey," he says. He wraps his arm around Spencer's shoulders, pulling him close, possessively, shaking a cigarette from his battered pack with the other hand. Spencer turns his head a little, pressing their lips together before Tom can take a drag; he licks into his mouth and Tom grunts a little before softly biting at Spencer's lips, kissing back with tongue and teeth, then gently nipping. 

They break apart after a moment; the sun is still stinging Spencer's eyes, so he squeezes them shut, hiding his face against Tom's neck. He inhales Tom's scent for a moment, breathing calmly, eyes still closed. He knows he needs to tell Tom about Jon; he knows he does because it's killing him and eating him up and Tom has a right to know, but Spencer doesn't know how or when.

*

It's like a movie, Spencer thinks, like a bad and overdone teen movie, moments so theatrical they can't be real. It's Spencer and Ryan sitting crosslegged on the couch in the lounge, drinking hot chocolate at two A.M., and Ryan is trying to tell Spencer exactly why he needs to tell Tom about what happened between Jon and him. At that moment Tom pushes the door open, camera raised, taking one shot, before dropping it again.

"He has a right to know about what happened with Jon-" Ryan stops, mid-sentence and looks up over Spencer's shoulder, shellshocked. 

"What-" Spencer starts and turns around, face dropping when he sees Tom. 

Tom opens and closes his mouth, and Spencer scrambles to his feet to follow him when he just shrugs and turns around. 

"Jon, huh?" Tom says over his shoulder, lighting his cigarette, tone bitter as he tries for a laugh. Spencer reaches out to take his hand and Tom lets him but doesn't look at him. He walks outside, away from the bus and into the darkness of the parking lot. 

Spencer inhales to talk but Tom shakes his head and stops abruptly, tossing his finished cigarette to the floor. "Don't," he says, then looks down. "I guess- I mean- we weren't-" He shrugs, fingers tightening around Spencer's hand. 

"You never called," Spencer says quietly, "you didn't- I thought you didn't want me anymore." 

"He's my best friend." Tom shrugs, but doesn't let go, pulling until they reach a little wall to sit again. "I can't even go and like, fucking hit him, because he's my best friend."

"I know." Spencer moves to sit next to him, hands shaking. Tom puts another cigarette between his lips, smoking silently until it's done, then tosses the butt away. 

"I can't even be mad at you." He shakes his head, sighing and closing his eyes. "We're all fucked up, all of us-" 

Spencer closes his eyes, the night air cold, only now noticing his goosebumps; he presses his body against Tom's, looking for warmth, and Tom lets go of his hand and wraps his arm around Spencer's shoulders. 

"What's gonna happen-" Spencer starts, shrugging, "-with us?"

"Dunno." Tom tightens his grip around Spencer, holding on.

Tom sleeps in his own bunk that night, and Spencer lies awake, unable to sleep without feeling Tom's body next to his, too scared to get up and find him.

*

Spencer wants to pick up the pieces and put them back together. There's tension in the air, even though Jon tries to pretend nothing happened; when he acts like he and Tom didn't have a shouting match, hiding away in another room backstage, but not far enough to stop their voices from carrying; when Tom is even more quiet than usually, grumpy and losing his atypically good mood from last week.

Ryan doesn't ask because he doesn't have to; Brendon is quiet and withdrawn, keeping to the cities and venues with Shane, trying to avoid getting caught up in the middle. Spencer can't blame him. 

In Philadelphia he dreams of a world made of ashes and dust, burned by two suns, pale marbles in the twilight sky. In his dream, he's wandering, raising the dry dirt under his bare feet, leaving clouds of dead earth in his wake. 

His dream-self is following an objective, running towards a goal, but after waking Spencer can't remember. 

He spends the day after the dream feeling weightless, unattached and lost, unsure at times whether he's still asleep.

*

They're out of sync, the four of them; off by a few milliseconds, but he's not sure if that's him or Jon or something else.

He bangs his drums harder, hoping to tune out his thoughts.

*

Before the show in Detroit, Spencer finds Tom and Jon on top of the bus, the dying sun sinking behind the shining metal. He watches them for a few moments, then finds the ladder up to the top, crawling on all fours for a moment, before standing up wobbly, knees shaking a little.

They both turn at the sound of his feet on the roof, sitting back, and Spencer hesitates for a moment, then closes the distance between them and sits down gingerly. 

"Hey," he says. "Shane and Brendon are driving me crazy." That's only partially true but Spencer doesn't want to tell them that he can't take the tension anymore, that it's squeezing his chest so tightly he thinks he might suffocate any second, that he dreams of death and destruction; and that he just wishes he wasn't such a fucking idiot. 

They sit in silence for some minutes, Spencer between them but leaning towards Tom a little, staring ahead at the people bustling, eight feet beneath them. It's getting darker, the metal cold beneath them, and Spencer sits back crosslegged, eyes flicking to Tom first, and then Jon. 

He wants to speak, but it feels like there's an invisible barrier in his throat, keeping him from doing so, keeping the words in, keeping his voice in check; he inhales, exhales, stomach twisting, and then snaps around when Jon speaks. 

"This is-" he says and shakes his head and waves his hand. "This is so stupid. We all, all three of us, we all fucked up." He hangs his head and Spencer swallows tightly, teeth gritted. "We're more than this." 

Spencer closes his eyes, not sure if he wants to hear more, if he's brave enough. "We need to get the fuck over it," Jon continues almost violently, his hands curling into fists on the roof. 

Spencer can't say anything, his throat is so tight with fear; he nods slowly, raising his chin, staring at the last drowning halo of light.

"We are," Tom says finally, voice dark, serious, "more than that." Spencer doesn't move, blinking, heart racing, but Tom's hand finds his way around Spencer's waist, squeezing softly.

*

Spencer crawls into Tom's bunk that night after the show. Tom is reading and listening to music, and he peeks out the curtains when Spencer wiggles into the bunk.

"Hey," he says and plucks Tom's earphones from his ears. "Is this okay?" 

Tom watches him for a moment, then smiles, nodding his head, and Spencer leans down and kisses him. Tom's hair is wet and he smells clean, like soap and shampoo. 

"It's okay," Tom says when Spencer pulls away. He tugs him down, curling his hand over Spencer's hip, and holds him there. They fit together somehow, knees and elbows and hands, filling the tiny space of the bunk, curled against each other. Spencer closes his eyes, his face pressed against Tom's chest, heart racing, knowing this is where he wants to be.

*

Tom kisses Spencer before they go on stage in Chicago; it's soft, sweet, and Spencer can feel his breath on his chin. It feels different than their previous kisses and Spencer feels his stomach flutter with relief and hope. They stay close for a few moments, people buzzing around them, busy and unconcerned by them; Spencer presses a little closer after the kiss breaks, hiding his nose against Tom's neck, until Tom shifts a bit, moving to kiss Spencer's neck shortly.

"We're gonna be okay," Tom says, pulling away, brushing his hand through Spencer's hair. 

"Okay," Spence replies, trying to breathe calmly, "okay."

*

They all - Spencer, Jon, Tom, Brendon, Ryan, Keltie and Shane - sit together that night after the show in Tom's and Jon's hotel room, looking at the prints of the past week that are spread out on the floor and the beds. They're mostly black and white, shots from odd angles, silent and full of stories.

Jon leaves for a smoke on the balcony and Spencer leans down to kiss Tom, before climbing to his feet, hissing from sitting in the same position for too long. He pushes open the balcony door and steps outside, leaning against the rail next to Jon. 

It's cold, his breath forming tiny clouds, reminiscent of the smoke Jon's blowing from his nose and mouth as he finishes his cigarette. 

"Being home is weird," Jon says after a moment, his eyes fixed on the city below. "It's so strange. I haven't been home in forever and now we're just passing through." 

Spencer nods; he closes his eyes, feeling tired and a little worn out from the day. "Yeah, I know." 

Jon turns a little, leaning his hip against the metal, now looking at Spencer. "Are you in love with him?" Spencer isn't prepared for the question but it doesn't surprise him as much as it would have two days ago. 

He shrugs a little, opening his eyes to look at Jon. "I think so," he finally replies, gaze flicking into the room where Tom is quietly talking to Shane. 

"Alright." Jon shifts a little, huffs out a breath. "I needed to know that." He smiles a little, somewhat melancholic. "He's my best friend, you know?"

Spencer hunches his shoulders and opens his mouth to apologize again, but Jon stops him.

"I'll live." He nudges one of the garden chairs with his toe, turning his head to smile at Spencer again. "We're more than that."

***


End file.
